

Copyright N“. 


COPYRrCHT DEPOSm 










.... . - 

binytf ' V ? '» » '>,♦ r* ' I v ' . ' ■ vf 




, i* 


kd 




i, ^ 


!««• 


t 




W 'I5I ,t; 




) I 




'.«^S 


Vi 


f <• '.v 




!t ' 


^ • ,.f-,T*2- ,ik^. ^'V.'-' 

f 1^5^? ■ ' 

1 \ 


B. 


^ ..IT. ■ 




• I 


Wjf 


i r 


. t/ 


V 




tjff » •» 

^"V?* 


■« ',' • ' , -Y ‘ ' 

B JOftriff . ‘ . ^ _ i^ ' - * ^ 


‘ .'iif • 


.'■■‘.-A 


•> ft 


■ ■' V- c 


SK‘ - ‘ ' . ^ ■ fl’ r 


\ » 




■■L‘v. , 



i' . * 



' 

^ V . 


r ‘4 




*VS 5 


■■'•■' '?MF& 


:,f- ' 





>■ ■ 







♦ • 




^ f 






"irf 


• > - * • 






j 


• s 


7 




t r 


il) 


y'l'r 


I s 


1^’ 


f¥^ 




'Vkr 


T/ 




it 








^‘V 


< / 


it 


I rf* 




:'S. 


Ki' 


‘A'>' 


yA> ■> 


' j 


i» ’ *• < 


fv 


'?!■ 


kV 



f. '*' 


h 






« 


I 




«*„ » 


■i j 


W 




‘A’ 


y» 


•• ^ 


it 


H^ i i ? 


..Sk:'i'.'lt'- 


t,V « 


0 4 %i 


I 






.^I 'rv- 'S 




.'U . -^ 


I* . . .•’*« 


■ > 


Ic 


V 


f/i 


.1) 


ff 








V If • • 


• / 


W #. IP' 

'• . ’••4 1^' . 




•f .f ...■•.. 


' t 


drU 


f.'v '■■•ff ’ ■:■ ■ 

i!v< - ■ ' * '‘* ' ■■^‘ ■ -v'^ 


- • * I ♦ 1 .’ ♦^1 

^ € Mb' ' ■■ 1 

..--feteb 


.^j 


'-X 


iri\ 




'^l^r 4 iA 

^ i •<'V ^'r* 

(r_.- fv 


y\ 


\ ' 




, 1 : 




: j* >■ 

.1 f ... 


' ' '■• .//“'I' 






,i 


■1' 


{ ; 


#7 » 7 ' • ■. 








• ,% 


* *,* irtt '• 

* * 1 ' ^> 


iti 


, i V, I. ,■ 


.i 


*-4 




■/, 


; 


W; 


I 


A-; 


}rt>H 


Fli 


.. 


., • 


* »'/o* i 


♦ •* i* 


\ • 


t:. 






i 


















3 .V 


V A 






i«\ >. 


it . 




. 4^11 




.1 


•? 2 /i 


A .4 




*/•. 


<y 






jOil 


I? 




ih' i: 


■ J 

,, , 


«:/i 


.A; 


4 . 


V 





VICTORIA 

By Martha Grace Pope 



Boston 

Sherman, French ^ Company 
1915 



3 


Copyright, 1915 

Sherman, French 6* Company 



JUN 19 1915 

€)CI,A406377 

f 


TO 

MY FRIEND 

GERTRUDE TERRELL MUNGER 






VICTORIA 


CHAPTER I 


“ You have your picture took first, pop,” said 
Victoria, and going up to the old man, she carefully 
brushed a thread from his shabby gray coat sleeve 
and gave a straightening tug to the ends of his 
badly-tied cravat. 

Mr. Greer appealed with a face of mock fright 
to the photographer. 

“ I s’pose if an ugly ol’ feller like me don’t bust 
the hull concern higher’n a kite, they’ll be willin’ 
to set fer theirs,” he observed laughingly. 

“ ‘ Age before beauty,’ ye know, pa,” remarked 
Ray, the elder daughter, with a laugh which was 
pure music. 

“ Well, I swan ! I like that,” the old man said 
as he dropped somewhat awkwardly into the com- 
fortable velvet chair. Back of him there was, of 
course, the looped-up drapery with its heavy cord 
and great dangling tassels against which the 
photographed heads of so many worthy people re- 
pose. Never had Amos Greer’s homely features 
been reproduced by a skillful city expert, although 
he was nearly sixty years of age, hence his present 
experience was something of an ordeal. He had 
no intention of posing ; but assumed unconsciously 
1 


2 


VICTORIA 


the stem, forbidding expression of countenance not 
infrequently encountered in the pages of the well- 
nigh obsolete family album. 

“Goodness me! You look fightin’ mad! Mad 
enough to kill some one, pa,” Ray complained. 

“ Yes ; an’ you got one shoulder hunched up 
higher’n t’other one,” Victoria said, eying him 
critically from all sides as she spoke. “ Pop, 
you’ll jus’ look awful! ” 

The father glanced from his daughters to the 
photographer in a helpless way. “ What’s an ol’ 
down- trodden feller to do ? ” he demanded with a 
lift of his scanty grey eyebrows. 

“ Young people are not very easily pleased,” the 
photographer assured him without much apparent 
interest, for he was not thinking of Mr. Greer’s 
troubles at all. He was slyly feasting his eyes on 
the marvelous beauty of the younger girl, Victoria, 
wondering meanwhile how it was that the ordinary 
old farmer should have such pretty daughters, the 
elder being by no means plain either, a plump, 
healthy young woman whose face was far too rosy 
and whose hair was far too red, but who was, not- 
withstanding, pleasing to look upon. 

With a little cackle that was half embarrass- 
ment, half delight, she seated herself in the chair 
her father had vacated, and before she had time 
to look either frightened or unnatural in any way, 
the sitting was over. 

The photographer turned inquiringly to the 
third member of the family party. 


VICTORIA 


S 


‘‘ Well, so far, so good. Now, miss, we are all 
ready for you.” 

Victoria Greer lifted two great questioning 
hazel-grey eyes to the man’s face for a moment, 
then let their gaze slowly follow the line of the 
polite arm he flourished in the direction of the vel- 
vet chair; but she manifested no immediate inten- 
tion of occupying the designated seat. 

“ I want to look awful nice in my picture,” she 
announced with a faint blush at her own boldness. 
“ You’ve got to take me like some o’ them folks 
a-hangin’ round here on the walls. If I have to 
look jus’ common, why, I ain’t a-goin’ to have my 
picture took ’tall.” 

Amos Greer glanced at Ray, who was laughing 
softly to herself as she noted the somewhat blank 
face of the photographer. Victoria gave a little 
defiant toss of her dark brown head. “ I ain’t 
a-goin’ to look like country folks in no picture o’ 
mine,” she asserted with the pretty waywardness 
one sees in a spoiled child. 

“ We’re in a tearin’ hurry this mornin’, Vic,” the 
old man reminded her ; but the girl was gazing ad- 
miringly at the photograph of a young woman in 
evening dress that smiled sweetly forth from a 
gorgeous encircling frame of dull gold, and paid 
no heed to the words. 

“ I want my picture took jus’ like that,” she 
announced, indicating the pictured face with a lean 
brown forefinger. “ I want my hair did up that 
way. An’ I mus’ look jus’ like that girl looks.” 


4t 


VICTORIA 


“ Why, Victoria Greer ! ” exclaimed the elder 
sister in a tone of gentle reproof, “ how would you 
look fixed up like that? ” 

The old farmer stared from one daughter to the 
other in a bewildered way. “ Well, I’ll be 
darned!” he ejaculated at last. “If that ain’t 
the beatenest thing out. Why, child, that blamed 
city gal ain’t got enough clothes on to kiver a rag 
doll.” 

But the rare beauty of the young country girl’s 
fresh, flower-like face appealed to the photogra- 
pher, and he smiled indulgently and a little sadly, 
noting the smooth, tightly-braided hair and the 
old-fashioned home made dress of cheap gingham. 

“ That is the picture of Miss Laura Forest, one 
of the richest and handsomest young ladies in Kan- 
sas City,” he said. “ The photograph does not 
flatter her in the least.” 

“ Well, I want to look that way,” persisted the 
country maiden. 

“ If you can spare the time, we will arrange to 
take your daughter in evening dress,” the photog- 
rapher said to the old man, who nodded assent and 
dropped into a chair in resigned silence by way of 
entering upon what promised to be a long period 
of waiting. It did not seem to occur to either 
father or sister that the girl’s demands were ridicu- 
lous. 

With the mention of his wealthy patron. Miss 
Forest, the photographer’s manner underwent a 
slight change. The added element of importance 


VICTORIA 


5 


enfolded him now. With brisk little steps he re- 
treated to a small room in the rear of the studio 
and returned with a lady assistant. 

‘‘ Miss King will give you all needed instruc- 
tions and assistance,” he said. 

The woman placed a tablet and two pencils on 
the table near the wall as she came up, smiling 
pleasantly. Like her employer, she was won by 
Victoria Greer’s beauty. ‘‘ Yes ; yes, indeed,” she 
said when informed of the country girl’s ambition, 
“ I can have you looking like Miss Forest if you 
wish. Your hair will have to be dressed. It will 
cost you seventy-five cents.” 

The old man opened his eyes and mouth both at 
this, but he did not speak. Victoria looked at him. 
There was a pleased brightness in her hazel-grey 
eyes, and her lithe, slim figure was trembling with 
suppressed excitement. 

‘‘ I got seventy-five cents o’ my own, pop,” she 
told him. 

‘‘But the low-necked dress, Victoria.?” ques- 
tioned the elder girl. 

“ I’ll attend to that,” Miss King informed them, 
and without further parley, she walked over to the 
telephone and called up a fashionable hair-dresser. 

When Victoria Greer emerged from the dressing- 
room three-quarters of an hour later, the shining 
brown hair was arranged in an intricate mass of 
waves, loops and puffs after the fashion of Miss 
Laura Forest, and low upon her shoulders was 
draped a shawl leaving them and the slender neck 


6 


VICTORIA 


bare. A brilliant red flowered in her usually pale 
cheek. Sinking into the velvet chair, she very 
slowly swung her coiffured head into the position 
assumed by the lady in the gold frame, and smiled 
shyly at the admiring photographer. 

“ Now, take me jus’ this way,” she said. 

“ Well, fer straight up an’ down, in an’ out, an’ 
all roun’ the comer foolishness, give me the women 
ev’ry time,” Mr. Greer grumbled to his daughters 
on reaching the street; but the old man was so 
brimful of good nature and cheerfulness that even 
his grumbling was of the sunshiny, mellow variety. 

“ La, pop, you’ve got time a-plenty fer that zinc 
business o’ yours { ’Sides I guess I wa’n’t a-goin’ 
to look homely in my picture,” Victoria informed 
him, while Ray laughed quietly and wondered to 
herself, meanwhile, whether it was possible for her 
young sister to look really homely under any con- 
ditions whatever. 

“ Victoria wants to astonish Doak Tibbs mos’ 
likely, pa,” she said. 

I guess Doak’ll be astonished fast enough when 
he sees that actress-lookin’ thing. I’m mighty 
feared you’ll look plumb ridic’lous. Tot,” the 
father said with genuine concern in his voice, add- 
ing in a lighter tone: “Now, I’m goin’ to meet 
them men at Naylor’s office. You two gals trot 
off to the stores an’ buy you each a new dress, an’ 
one fer yer grandma, a nice black. Ye kin spend 
all I give ye, an’ I reckon there ain’t no danger 
they’ll trust ye up here, if yer ol’ dad’s credit is 


VICTORIA 


7 


good to home. Tot, ain’t you a leetle top-heavy 
with all that mess o’ hair pressin’ yer brains in? 
Looks to me ’s if the mos’ fumishin’ is on the out- 
side o’ the head in that sort o’ riggin’, though. 
Well, don’t let any one run away with ye, an’ meet 
me at the hotel not later ’n one.” 

The progress of the two Kansas girls along 
Walnut Street that morning was slow indeed; but 
the windows — those wonderful city windows — 
what sights they held for country eyes. To walk 
briskly along without a look at them and only an 
indifferent glance at the passing crowds as was 
the way of the Kansas City people did not form 
any part of their plans for this great trip to the 
city. 

“What are eyes for, if ’tain’t to see with?” 
Victoria indignantly demanded, and if there was 
any answer to the question, Ray failed to find it. 

The great department store of Emerson, Burt 
and Thaxton was fairly thronged with morning 
shoppers. Ray and Victoria went up and down 
time after time in the elevators for the mere 
pleasure of the thing before inquiring the way to 
the counters where dress goods were displayed. 

Their first purchase was for grandmother, a 
serviceable brilliantine which the polite salesman 
informed them with a superior air was “ the cor- 
rect thing for an elderly lady.” 

“ I’m goin’ to buy me a blue dress,” Ray con- 
fided to her sister when the brilliantine was cut off. 
“ Don’t you think that’ll be nice? ” 


8 


VICTORIA 


But it was not always an easy matter to please 
the capricious Victoria, as Ray very well knew; so 
she was by no means surprised when the prompt 
reply came : “ I think brown’ll be lots nicer, 

Ray.” Then without waiting, she turned to the 
salesman, now looking expectantly at both girls: 
“We want ye to show us a hull lot o’ brown dress 
goods,” she said. 

But the keen-eyed gentleman who sold the dress 
goods was quick to see that the wearer of the gown 
in question favored blue, so while spreading forth 
all the shades from tan to darkest seal in response 
to the request of the younger lady, he let them 
know that his preference was for blue also. So 
poor Ray chose a blue silk of a shade that was far 
too bright to be becoming to her very rosy com- 
plexion ; neither was it exactly modish at the time. 

With a long, regretful look at the dull, rejected 
browns, Victoria ordered silks for her own inspec- 
tion. “ I guess — I guess I want a pretty gray,” 
she said, her glance wandering indeterminately 
from one dainty pattern to another. But the 
obliging salesman soon found that she was in no 
hurry to make her selection. She tossed roll after 
roll scornfully from her. Ray stared wonderingly 
at the capricious young creature. How strange 
that one should be so hard to please, she thought. 
Victoria drew a caressing hand over a pale helio- 
trope with tiny bars of white. “Lots of ’em is 
pretty,” she said, lifting her troubled eyes to the 
salesman’s smiling face. “ But I want a dress like 


VICTORIA 9 

the city ladies buy. What kind o’ dresses does 
Miss Laura Forest get ? ” 

The young man’s lower jaw dropped. He lifted 
a very white hand to his mouth and twirled his 
short mustache — or tried to ; for the mustache 
had not as yet attained sufficient length to yield 
itself readily to the process. A young person in an 
ordinary gingham gown that was hopelessly out of 
style, and who, moreover, used her mother tongue 
without the troublesome restrictions imposed by 
grammar, to speak familiarly of the wealthy, ele- 
gant Miss Forest. Why, it approached perilously 
near to sacrilege. 

“ Miss Forest has all manner of dresses,” he ex- 
plained quietly, trying hard not to appear dis- 
gusted. “ She wears every color there is, I think. 
But she is not your complexion, you see. Miss 
Forest has blue eyes and her hair is light brown.” 

“ Then show me some goods like she bought a 
dress of,” was Victoria’s instant request, and the 
man disappeared behind the counter. 

In a few moments he was back with several rolls 
of soft wool goods in pastel shades, materials not 
offered previously at all. These he hastened to 
display in tempting folds before the critical eyes 
of the little country girl. 

“ Miss Forest bought a frock of this only last 
week,” he said, holding up a delicate pearl grey 
with indistinct pink roses scattered over its surface. 
A little satisfied smile crept to Victoria’s bps. 
Without a moment’s hesitation, she snatched the 


10 


VICTORIA 


dainty fabric and thrust it into the salesman’s 
hands. 

“ I’m goin’ to have a dress of it, too, then. 
Pop won’t care,” she added, turning' to her sister. 
“ He said silk ; but la ! he ain’t a-goin’ to care.” 

The two girls walked away from the counter, 
followed by the amused glances of several clerks 
who had been attracted by the unusual demands of 
the younger. Before a pompous-looking person- 
age with yellow, pointed beard, Ray halted sud- 
denly. The red in her cheeks was fairly flaming. 

“ Please tell us where to go to buy a tie fer a 
gentleman,” she said rather faintly. 

Victoria giggled knowingly. “ I thought you 
weren’t a-goin’ to ferget Ben,” she whispered, as 
they followed in the wake of the pompous indi- 
vidual who should have been engaged in heralding 
the approach of royalty, instead of escorting two 
timid country girls who were manifestly dazzled by 
the novelty of their surroundings and eagerly gaz- 
ing at the passing crowds as they walked. 

Arrived at the department where fancy goods 
for gentlemen were sold, it was Victoria’s turn to 
be patient. The girl who had selected her own first 
silk dress with so little difficulty bade fair to leave 
the immense establishment without finding a tie 
worthy the acceptance of a certain “ Ben ” who 
must be fastidious indeed to judge by the young 
woman’s painstaking survey of the neckwear. 

But as everything comes to an end at last, after 
many whispered consultations with Victoria and 


VICTORIA 


11 


most unusual changes of mind — Ray Greer was 
as steadfast as the stars themselves — a tie was 
purchased, carefully placed in a neat box and 
handed to Miss Greer who received the parcel with 
face so demure it is a pity the seller was not de- 
ceived. True, he did not know that the tie was 
destined for a certain Ben Hill; but that was sim- 
ply because he did not know the name of Miss 
Greer’s sweetheart. 

Victoria moved away; but her sister laid a de- 
taining hand on her arm. “ Ain’t you goin’ to 
buy a tie for Doak? ” she whispered. 

“ No ; I ain’t,” Victoria replied with a slight toss 
of the head. “ I haven’t got but three dollars left 
no how, an’ I’m a-goin’ to get some slippers to put 
on when I wear my new dress.” 

“ But Doak’ll feel bad,” urged the kind-hearted 
Ray. 

“ Let him. ’Twon’t kill him I guess,” was the 
cruel rejoinder. 

“ Then, I’m goin’ to buy him a tie myself,” said 
Ray. “ Poor Doak ! ” 

So Ray bought the neglected Doak Tibbs a pale 
green tie ; but Victoria paid little heed to the unim- 
portant purchase. She was looking down at her 
shabby old shoes and seeing the same pair of small 
feet encased in soft, shiny kid. Poor Doak ! 


CHAPTER II 


Mr. Naylor’s office was a very small room on the 
fourth floor of a tall brick building, and it was here 
that two men met by appointment to discuss a new 
business venture. The hour for this meeting was 
necessarily an early one. It is not in matters of 
the heart alone that three people sometimes make 
a crowd. 

“ They tell me, Naylor, that when you want to 
cook a rabbit, the first thing to do is to catch your 
rabbit.” 

The man at the desk twirled quickly around in 
his swinging chair and faced the speaker. He was 
a small, sharp-featured individual with a remark- 
ably shrewd eye and ingratiating, ever-ready smile. 
He closed his fingers tightly upon his palms before 
speaking, a gesture indicative of grasping and 
holding in general. 

“ Exactly. I was careful to look after that in 
the first place. But in this case, our rabbit hap- 
pens to be a childlike innocent of sixty or there- 
abouts with apparently as much knowledge of the 
world as the average ten-year-old. If we work it 
right, we’ve got a fine thing down there, Corey. 
It’s bound to pay. Can’t help it. And I don’t 
imagine we’re going to have any difficulty with the 
12 


VICTORIA 


13 


old man. Sit down, and we’ll talk this thing over 
before the others get here. I’m looking for Judge 
Warden, too.” 

Felix Corey, who had been standing at the one 
window of the little office watching the crowds 
passing to and fro on the limited stretch of side- 
walk visible at that height, helped himself to a bat- 
tered arm chair near his friend’s desk, flung one leg 
easily over the other and prepared to listen. 

“ I’ve got a map of Cherokee County here some 
place. Let me see. Where did I put that now? 
Oh, yes; here it is. Draw up, Corey. I’ll show 
you just where the old man’s holdings are. Here, 
where I’ve drawn the red-ink line, the old hayseed 
has two hundred acres of the finest zinc land in 
Kansas, jam up to Galena. Why, he’s rich. 
Rich, and does not know it. Doesn’t even know 
for a certainty that there is zinc on his farm at all. 
And I’m not exactly publishing it from the house- 
tops myself. But, just between ourselves, now, 
I’ve had a man down there prospecting on the 
quiet, and old Greer’s place is rich in zinc. I’ve 
been a trifle attentive to the old fellow for a day 
or two — a carriage drive around Kansas City, etc. 
You know a little attention goes a long way with 
these ignorant country chaps. Guess I’ve about 
got him where I want him.” He fixed Mr. Corey 
with his shrewd, half-shut eye and smiled his ever- 
ready smile. 

“ And your plans ? ” inquired Corey quietly. 

“ Form a stock company, you and I to keep the 


u 


VICTORIA 


controlling interest and not put the shares on the 
market at first. We’ve got a good thing. Why 
not keep it.? ” 

“ Who’s going into it.? ” 

“ Huntington’!! put in twenty-five. He has so 
many irons in the fire that he’ll take no active part 
in the management, of course.” 

“ Guess you don’t want him to,” laughed Corey 
dryly, a laugh in which his friend did not join. 
Mr. Naylor’s appreciation of the humorous occur- 
rences of life found expression in his ever-ready 
smile which was more or less expansive. Just now, 
the smile was quite faint, a suggestion rather than 
a reality. 

“ Judge Warden puts in fifteen,” he proceeded 
presently. ‘‘ It’s a good thing to have a lawyer 
on your board every time. You can put in ten 
without exactly feeling it, no; twenty I mean, and 
it won’t beggar me to match that amount. There 
you are. Eighty thousand actual capital, and 
twenty more to go in small shares to the little fishes 
among our friends. Then we’ll announce a capi- 
tal of a quarter of a million, half a million, what 
you will. The zinc’s there. Somebody is going 
to get rich off it. Why not you and me instead of 
the other fellow.? Why, Corey, there’s a fortune 
in that jack. It’s a gold mine. That’s what it 
is, a gold mine.” 

Mr. Naylor brought an emphatic fist down on 
the outspread map of Cherokee County. 


VICTORIA 


15 


“ And where does the old fellow himself come 
in?” 

“ That’s what I’m leading up to. My idea is to 
lay the plans before him, and offer him a very 
small percentage of the output from the mines. 
He’s bound to take it. He hasn’t a cent to work 
the thing. No danger he won’t jump at our offer. 
You see I’ve had the thing in mind for the few 
days he’s been here. Oh, I’ve done my best talk- 
ing. He’s all right.” 

“ I see. Your idea, of course, is to open the 
mines, not to erect a smelter on the ground.” 

“ Exactly. The stuff can be exported to Pitts- 
burg or lola. I have not entered into correspond- 
ence with those concerns yet. That will come 
later. Weir City and Girard have their smelters, 
too. But Pittsburg has fine railroad facilities. 
And another thing, it has cheap coal. I expect to 
direct things from this end of the line; but put a 
good manager down there at the mines.” 

Corey flicked an imaginary fly from his dark 
brown coat sleeve. 

“ What’s the matter with buying the land, Nay- 
lor? ” he queried. “ Why not put the thing on a 
sure basis? As it stands, what’s to prevent the 
old man making better terms with some other con- 
cern? Suppose he refuses to let you have the min- 
ing rights for a long period? ” 

But Mr. Naylor was confident of success where 
old man Greer was concerned. 


16 


VICTORIA 


“ That’s precisely what Huntington wanted to 
know,” he returned promptly. “ But it seems the 
land cannot be bought just at present; but I have 
hopes of getting the old man to sign an option in 
our favor. It appears his wife died years ago, and 
there are two daughters, the eldest twenty-two I 
understand, the youngest only sixteen. So the 
land cannot be bought just yet. Look here, 
Corey, Huntington is just a little troublesome in 
business. Wants to go into detail. Seems so 
damned scared somebody’s going to be taken ad- 
vantage of, I believe he’d want a delegation of 
bishops to pass on the moral aspects of a first 
mortgage. I think honesty is a good thing. I ad- 
mire an honest man myself. But I’m not setting 
myself up as superior to the laws of my country 
exactly. But Hunt would go you one better than 
the Bible. Pshaw ! What I want to know is how 
he made all the money he’s got. Must be pure 
luck.” 

Corey slowly shook his head. 

“ Huntington’s a fine business man,” he said, “ ,a 
fine business man, and a first rate fellow. Never 
goes back on his word, and is thoroughly honor- 
able. Why, his name in this zinc business will do 
more to sell the stock in case you want to unload 
than any other consideration in the world. Beats 
me how you ever got him, Naylor.” 

“ Through Warden, of course,” Mr. Naylor 
quickly replied. “ You know how the case stands, 
don’t you.? They say he’s fairly breaking his 


VICTORIA 


17 


neck to marry Warden’s granddaughter, Miss 
Forest. I guess Hunt is long-headed enough to 
know it’s not a bad thing to stand in with grand- 
pap.” 

Corey whistled softly, and looked at his friend. 

“ Wants to marry Miss Forest, does he? Well, 
why doesn’t she take him.?^ He’s not so old. I 
don’t suppose Hunt’s forty yet. If she wants 
money, he’s got it. And he’s a splendid fellow 
every way. She will have to go far to do better. 
And he isn’t after her money I suppose with all 
he’s got of his own,” said he quietly. 

“ Why, he made half her money for her,” Mr. 
Naylor remarked, taking a bunch of papers from 
one of the pigeon holes in his desk and glancing at 
his watch. “ Her parents didn’t leave so much I 
hear ; but he has had the sole management of it for 
years. She ought to take him out of gratitude. 
But that’s a quality that the fair sex as a rule is 
not very conspicuous for. And with all her at- 
tractions, I suppose Laura Forest is no exception. 
Old man Greer’s a few minutes late already. But 
he’ll be here.” 

The silence that followed was broken by Mr. 
Corey. 

“ Did it ever strike you as strange, Naylor, that 
Judge Warden wasn’t given charge of that girl’s 
money instead of putting everything in Hunting- 
ton’s hands ? ” 

“ Well, all the money was from the Forest side 
you know. Naturally Mrs. Forest had no money 


18 


VICTORIA 


of her own to leave. Possibly Forest did not like 
his father-in-law,” suggested Mr. Naylor. 

“ Best of friends always. So every one says. 
And Miss Forest is perfectly devoted to Judge 
Warden. But I rather think the girl’s richer un- 
der the existing order of things,” Felix Corey said 
with a somewhat significant smile. 

“ I guess you’re about right there, Corey. By 
the way. Warden and Huntington have men for two 
of the places we shall have to fill. But you and I 
are left free in our choice of bookkeeper. Hunt- 
ington seems particularly anxious that some young 
fellow from Minnesota should be appointed engi- 
neer down at the mines. Perhaps you know him. 
He’s been with Payne and Hammer some months. 
John Thornhill his name is. I don’t happen to 
know him; but Hunt swears by him.” 

“ Never heard of him,” said Corey lightly. 
“ However, I have no candidate myself. Besides, 
I should think Huntington makes a very modest 
demand, considering he puts up twenty-five thou- 
sand dollars. I guess Hunt knows what he’s talk- 
ing about.” 

“ The young man we’re going to make manager 
down there,” continued Naylor, “ at the mines I 
mean, is Judge Warden’s choice, young Trent. 
Sefton Trent, I believe his name is. I have met 
him. Seems a capable, bright, wide-awake young 
fellow. I guess he’ll do all right. I handle the 
financial oars myself.” 

“ I know Sefton Trent slightly. He appears to 


VICTORIA 


19 


be a good man for the place,” agreed Mr. Corey. 
“ He impressed me as a pleasant-spoken, energetic 
young fellow. That’s your man I think.” 

Mr. Naylor bounced out of his chair with alac- 
rity and bowed the old Cherokee County farmer 
into the office with deference quite edifying, pre- 
senting his friend, Mr. Corey, as a gentleman who 
had money to invest and who had been prevailed 
upon to put some of that money into Kansas zinc. 

Mr. Greer thrust out a large, bony hand. In 
truth, there was not a half ounce of superfluous 
flesh upon his great, angular frame. 

“ I am glad to know ye, Mr. Corey,” he said, 
his rugged, kindly face breaking into a genial smile. 
Eliminating the melancholy from the portraits of 
our first martyred president, the features bore a 
striking resemblance to those of Abraham Lincoln. 
He dropped rather awkwardly into one of the office 
chairs, and placed his brown straw hat carefully 
upon the floor beside it. “ I swan! You city fell- 
ers sure do live high,” he ejaculated with a pleased 
chuckle at his little joke. “ Guess I’m a lee tie late 
this momin’,” he added pleasantly. “ Brought my 
women folks up to town with me. An’ ye can’t 
exactly put yer finger on what the women folks are 
a-goin’ to do, kin ye now.? But I’m here, an’ I 
reckon we’re all ready to talk business, aren’t we? ” 

“All ready, yes;” agreed Mr. Naylor cheer- 
fully. “ I have just been explaining our plans to 
Mr. Corey, who is willing to put considerable 
money into the enterprise, and he thinks you’ve got 


20 


VICTORIA 


a good thing of it, Mr. Greer. Yes, sir; if the 
zinc’s there, you get your share of the profits, and 
without a cent of outlay. All these industries need 
money to develop them. What would the zinc in- 
dustry in Indiana and Illinois be to-day, if men 
with money hadn’t taken hold.?^ What would the 
lead industry in Kansas have amounted to? 
Riches in the ground never kept anybody from 
starving yet. They never made a country rich.” 
Mr. Naylor’s in was duly emphatic. 

“ That’s so,” assented the old man thoughtfully. 
“ An’ that zinc business is a pretty business, I tell 
ye. Ever see a smelter? The process is certainly 
an interestin’ one. They take the ores straight 
fum the cars to the crushin’ room on big trucks, 
an it’s nothin’ but powder when it’s through there. 
Then they h’ist it to the yupper floor, an’ it goes 
to the furnace fer roastin’ stuff. Them furnaces 
are sort o’ three-story concerns, an’ the roastin’ 
stuff’s dropped fum the top story down, down, 
down, until mos’ all the sulphur’s driv off. Hot? 
Great guns ! An’ I swan ! if that blamed sulphu- 
rious vapor don’t come nigh to killin’ all the vege- 
tation roun’ them there smeltin’ places. They 
mix up crushed coke ’ith it in the mixin’ rooms an’ 
water so’s to make a kind o’ slush. This they 
pack tight as a drum in retorts o’ fire clay which 
are jus’ a sizzlin’ hot, an’ they put condensers — 
that’s what they call ’em — over the retorts to 
catch the vapor driv off by the heat. It don’t take 
so long neither fum the time that jack or silicate’s 


VICTORIA 


21 


took fum the ground till that zinc brought fum the 
condensers is all ready fer shippin’, molded an’ 
ev’rything. I rec’lect the fus time I see the thing 
done. I was plumb took with it.” 

The city gentlemen did not attempt to check the 
garrulousness of old man Greer. He was most 
graciously allowed to lead the conversation into 
whatever channels he wished. But before he left 
the office, articles of agreement had been drawn up, 
signed by both parties, duly witnessed, and in fact, 
all the preliminary steps taken by which “ The 
Sunflower Mining Company of Kansas ” was au- 
thorized to enter upon its task of taking zinc from 
the holdings of a certain Amos Greer in the County 
of Cherokee. 

Upon the directory books, the name of Silas 
Naylor was inscribed as President, that of Felix 
Corey as Secretary and Treasurer. 


CHAPTER III 


“ I think — I think I will wear the blue, Lisette.” 

Miss Laura Forest’s survey of the three marvel- 
ous “ creations ” which the maid had spread out 
upon the great mahogany bed for her inspection 
had been so very deliberate that it gave the care- 
ful young serving woman considerable satisfaction 
to hear the decision. She turned quickly to the 
dresser, laid the silver-backed hair-brush back 
upon its engraved tray, and opening a small com- 
partment, took from it the dainty satin slippers 
matching in tint the pale silver blue of the desig- 
nated gown. 

‘‘ You certainly do look nice in that dress. Miss 
Laura,” she remarked, adjusting a tiny buckle on 
one of the slippers. Then she again took up the 
hair-brush. 

But the stately young mistress did not at once 
seat herself before the great oval mirror of the 
dressing-table. She remained standing just where 
she was, and turning her graceful head first on 
one side, then on the other, continued her critical 
contemplation of the several gowns. 

Lisette gazed admiringly at the fair gold-brown 
hair which hung in profuse masses far below the 
slim waist of her mistress. But she said nothing. 


VICTORIA 


2S 

“ The white is pretty. Yes ; I believe I like the 
white best. Perhaps I had better wear that,” Miss 
Forest said presently, smoothing out a bertha of 
rare Brussels lace which fell over the snowy satin. 

But Lisette waited patiently. Ladies’ maids are 
said to be extremely addicted to chattering; but 
report sometimes does them injustice. Miss For- 
est’s maid could be a veritable model of discretion 
on occasion ; yet she knew a very great deal, despite 
the blank innocence of her face. 

For Miss Laura Forest was ordinarily the least 
capricious of mortals. But this was one of her 
“ particular evenings,” to use Lisette’s own term 
for all occasions important enough to call forth 
vacillation, irresolution. 

So she waited in silence, not surprised in the 
least when the big violet eyes of her mistress wan- 
dered off to the contemplation of a filmy black net, 
lingering long on its sparkling sequins and bands 
of iridescent. embroidery. 

So Lisette waited. Why take out the pearl 
ornaments to be worn with one frock, when she 
might be told ultimately that the jewels required 
were the new sapphires, or possibly the old-fash- 
ioned chain and locket which had once belonged to 
Miss Forest’s grandmother.? Lisette did not ad- 
mire that chain and locket. If she herself were 
rich, she would wear diamonds only, big new dia- 
monds, that would fairly blind the eyes of the en- 
vious whenever she appeared. It was no surprise 
at all to her when Miss Forest turned quickly to- 


24 


VICTORIA 


ward the dressing-table. “ Do my hair, Lisette. 
I’ll decide what to wear afterward,” she announced, 
tossing back the shining waves of her loosened 
hair. 

Thus the patient maid found use for the silver- 
backed brush at last. She dearly loved her mis- 
tress, and under her skillful fingers the heavy, gold- 
brown hair soon lay in artistic waves and coils 
above the fair, lovely face. But as she worked, 
the faintest little pucker of a frown settled be- 
tween Lisette’s sharp black eyes. So Mr. Trent 
was coming that evening. Miss Forest’s capri- 
ciousness meant just that. And Mr. Trent — 
Well, he was very handsome, of course, but every- 
body said he had no money. Miss Griswold’s 
maid had told her he was awful poor. And Miss 
Griswold was engaged to a millionaire. To be sure 
the millionaire had taken the Keeley cure twice; 
but that didn’t make any diflference when he bad 
lots of money. And why in the world should any 
one want to marry a poor man when so many rich 
ones were breaking their necks to — 

“ Lisette.” Miss Forest’s gentle voice broke in 
upon the thoughts that were running riot in the 
busy brain of the maid. “ Lisette,” she repeated, 
not waiting for the maid’s response, “ you know 
that little grey wool with the pink? Just bring 
me that and no ornaments.” 

“ The grey wool ! ” No wonder that in passing, 
Lisette threw a swift glance of regret toward the 


VICTORIA 


25 


rejected finery on the mahogany bed, as she went 
in quest of the simple little frock. 

Yet it is doubtful if Laura Forest ever looked 
fairer or sweeter than when she walked into the 
dining-room some few minutes later with the sim- 
ply-made pale grey wool frock accentuating the 
long lines of her lithe young figure, its color setting 
olF to such advantage the delicate rosiness of her 
complexion, the wondrous blue of her long-lashed 
eyes. 

Laura and her grandfather dined alone. With 
them, dinner at all times was a very ceremonious 
function, the absence of guests making not the 
least difference. Being quite companionable, usu- 
ally they talked a great deal. Laura, quick to see 
the humorous side of things, was a delightful din- 
ner companion, sprightly and fun-loving ; while 
Judge Warden contrived at the age of sixty-nine 
to escape being called an old bore. But neither 
spoke much during the meal. Laura, slyly observ- 
ing her grandfather during its progress, noted that 
he was wearing what she called his “ bridge face.” 
This term was in no way connected with the popu- 
lar game. Judge Warden had a way of crossing 
his bridges before they were reached. 

In some indefinable way the girl felt that what 
was on his mind was connected with herself. How- 
ever, the presence of servants prevented the discus- 
sion of private matters. So Laura waited, know- 
ing that her grandfather would choose his own time 


26 VICTORIA 

for introducing any topic that concerned them 
both. 

She was not mistaken. Scarcely had they en- 
tered the big, cheerful library after dinner when 
he asked with unusual abruptness: 

‘‘ Laura, what is the matter with Huntington, 
anyway ? ” 

Judge Warden looked inquiringly at the serene 
young woman in the window seat who was appar- 
ently studying the countenance of an idealized 
American Indian on one of the cushions. She 
looked up wonderingly, a question in her luminous 
violet eyes. 

“ The matter with Mr. Huntington, grand- 
father? Why, nothing that I know of. . What 
should be the matter with him ? ” 

“ If there is nothing the matter with him as you 
say, why don’t you marry him? Why wait any 
longer? ” 

“ I never said I was going to marry Mr. Hunt- 
ington at any time,” she said quietly. “ I have 
never said I was going to marry anybody.” 

“Yes; that’s just it. And I think if — ” 

But his granddaughter threw two slim protesting 
hands upward. 

“ Grandfather, I never said I would not marry 
some time. Indeed, I believe the peaceful career 
of an old maid would not suit me. It might prove 
rather monotonous,” she said in a voice sweet 
enough seemingly to cast out all the imps of “ an- 


VICTORIA 27 

ger, hatred and ill-will.” But the old gentleman 
was not mollified. 

‘‘ You’re old enough,” he grumbled. 

“ You say it exactly like Sir Peter Teazle, 
grandfather, except that he was talking to a pro- 
voking young wife,” she remarked seriously. 

“ Yes ; you’re old enough,” he repeated, “ and 
you’re not going to grow any younger.” 

“ Twenty-two years, five months and twenty-one 
days,” announced the young lady promptly. “ It 
sounds like my obituary, doesn’t it? Not much 
prospect of growing younger or more attractive.” 

“ For heaven’s sake don’t get flippant, Laura ! ” 
he exclaimed in considerable vexation. “ Try to 
look at this question seriously. I’m not saying 
you’re falling into decay ; but I say Huntington 
loves you, and any other girl in Kansas City would 
be proud of such a man. Both your grandmothers 
were married at sixteen.” 

“ But Grandfather Forest was only twenty,” 
Laura interrupted quickly. ‘‘ And Mr. Hunting- 
ton is forty.” 

‘‘ Huntington is thirty-eight,” corrected her 
grandfather, ‘‘ only thirty-eight. But if he were 
forty-eight or fifty-eight, he is a man anyway, 
which is more than can be said for some of your 
society nincompoops.” 

“ Surely you think a girl ought to be in love with 
the man she marries ? ” his granddaughter de- 
manded in surprise. 


2S 


VICTORIA 


‘‘ And that’s just it. What’s to prevent any 
sensible young woman from being in love with 
Huntington, I should like to ask.^” he snapped. 
“ With your money added to his, you could do any- 
thing you wished. He’s got the genuine Midas 
touch. Everything he goes into turns to gold. 
There isn’t a finer business man in Kansas City 
to-day. Now, he’s taking hold of this zinc mining 
down in Kansas. That is, he’s putting money into 
it. And his name’ll help to make a big thing of 
it. I tell you Huntington is a success, Laura. 
He is straightforward, clean, honorable.” Then, 
as his granddaughter did not speak, he added con- 
clusively : “ And above all, he is a gentleman.” 

Laura Forest was silent, her down-bent eyes star- 
ing straight at the lamb-like face of the Indian on 
the leather cushion, and not seeing it at all. The 
old gentleman threw a keen glance in her direc- 
tion. 

“ Maybe like a fool I’m only wasting my breath 
after all,” he said more gently than he had spoken 
as yet. ‘‘ Perhaps there is something between that 
fellow Trent and yourself, for aught I know.” 

For a long minute the girl continued her contem- 
plation of the Indian’s head on the cushion. 
When she lifted her face, it was perhaps a trifle 
more serious than before, and her fingers toyed 
nervously with the leather fringe of the pillow. 

“ I am perfectly free, grandfather,” she said very 
gently. “ There is nothing between Sefton Trent 
and me.” 


VICTORIA 


29 


“ Then why in the mischief do you have him 
everlastingly dangling after you ? ” demanded her 
grandfather. “ It makes the fellow look like a 
fool. Every one knows he hasn’t enough money 
to keep you in gloves for a year. I’ve no patience 
with the idiot.” 

‘‘ You talk as though poverty was something 
disgraceful, grandfather,” she said, with more 
spirit than she had yet shown. ‘‘ A man is a man 
without regard to his material possessions. I am 
rich. I do not on that account have to look for 
riches when I choose my friends.” 

“ Or husband either, you mean, I suppose,” he 
observed with something like a sneer. 

“ I have not yet chosen a husband,” she reminded 
him a little haughtily. “ I know, of course, that 
you never liked Mr. Trent. Sometimes I wish I 
were poor, poor, poor. I am tired of being called 
the rich Miss Forest. I think I could be really 
happy with very little. And my father died of 
overwork piling up this wretched wealth for me.” 
She sighed a little sadly, and then said in a tone 
of utter weariness : “ How terrible to look upon 

the accumulation of wealth as the one aim in life ! ” 

Now, Mr. Warden, seeing his dearly-loved young 
granddaughter on the very verge of tears, became 
suddenly alarmed. All his ill temper left him in- 
stantly, and he was willing to make amends. 

“ I’m a beastly old bear, child,” he said by way 
of apology. “ A beastly old bear to make you 


30 


VICTORIA 


“ Crying? ” Laura Forest laughingly exclaimed, 
jumping lightly up from the window seaty all her 
accustomed gayety evidenced by the action. 
“ Why, Grandfather Abraham Whitney Warden, 
I assure you I am not crying at all. Crying is ex- 
tremely bad for the eyes and nose, especially the 
nose. Look at me. Do I present the appearance 
of a Niobe? I have not cried for ten days or 
longer still. Not since my diamond ring fell into 
the Kaw River.” 

And she was still in this merry mood five minutes 
later when she came upon Sefton Trent placing his 
hat on the mahogany table in the hall. 

“ Why, Sefton, I am so glad to see you to- 
night.” She extended a warm right hand which 
he held for a moment in both his own. 

“ Am I to infer that you are not glad to see me 
on some nights ? ” he smilingly asked, although the 
tone was the tone of one whose welcome is assured. 

“ No ; I did not say that,” Laura replied quickly. 
“ But I mean that I am more in the mood for see- 
ing you to-night than any one else.” 

“ That statement admits of two constructions,” 
said Trent. 

“ Take the one most flattering to yourself then, 
Mr. Critic.” 

Laura laughed in a slightly embarrassed way 
and led her guest past the open arch guarded by 
marble cupids on pedestals which marked the en- 
trance to the great formal drawing-room, bril- 
liantly lighted, lonely and cold-looking, to a dainty 


VICTORIA 


31 


little sitting-room off the library, lighted by wax 
candles only, furnished in ivory and the deep pink 
that glows warm and rich in the heart of a wild- 
wood rose. 

It was in this room that Laura Forest received 
her particular friends, and here Sefton Trent had 
passed many, many evenings for almost a year in 
the company of the vivacious heiress. 

Their world looked upon them as already en- 
gaged; yet such was not the case. Miss Forest 
had suitors many. Gossip reported Trent the fa- 
vored one, so far as the young lady herself was 
concerned. And for once, gossip was not far 
wrong. 

“ What has happened? You look excited over 
something, Laura,” Trent said when the rose- 
colored parlor was reached. “ You appear far too 
happy considering the state of things. You ought 
to look profoundly miserable.” 

“ I should be a good actress if I looked pro- 
foundly miserable,” she laughed, “ for as it hap- 
pens, I am very happy indeed. Is there any as- 
signable reason why I should be unhappy, de- 
jected? ” 

‘‘ A very good one. I am going away to-mor- 
row.” 

The girl gave a sudden start. The fan she held 
idly in one hand fell to the floor, two of its mother- 
of-pearl sticks dashing upon the polished hard- 
wood. He stooped and recovered the pretty little 
ruined article. 


VICTORIA 


“Going away to-morrow, Sefton?” she ex- 
claimed with more anxiety coloring the tone than 
she would have cared to express. Laura Forest 
had herself well in hand. When she spoke again, it 
was in her usual light manner with only such un- 
dertone of polite concern as is customary when dis- 
cussing the affairs of another. 

“Must you really go.?* And where.? And 
why ? And tell me everything about it. But I am 
sorry, of course.” 

“ I think the bright spots in my life, the very 
brightest, are made up of the hours I have spent 
with you. They have been truly happy ones, 
Laura.” 

She reached an impulsive hand across the small 
inlaid table that separated them. “ I have been 
happy too, Sefton. We have been real friends I 
think.” 

Sefton Trent took the slim white hand in his, 
surprised to feel how warm, how firm it was. For 
some moments they sat thus silent. Then he bent 
downward and kissed the fingers lightly. “ I be- 
lieve you could make a bad man good, Laura,” he 
said slowly. “ I believe you could.” 

The girl quickly withdrew her hand. “ No, 
Sefton,” she said, shaking her gold-brown head a 
little sadly. “ A man is either good or bad in 
himself. And now, let us talk about Mr. Trent 
and his plans. Is it that his ships have sailed 
bravely into port.? ” 

“ No ; indeed. No such good luck as that. I 


VICTORIA 


shall have to work for my ships. But it so hap- 
pens that a lucky old duck of a farmer, a veritable 
hayseed by the way, has discovered zinc on his farm 
in Cherokee County, Kansas, not far from the town 
of Galena. It promises a fine yield. He was up 
here some little time ago and he has succeeded in 
getting some of the Kansas City men interested — 
Huntington for one — and they are going to start 
work down there right away. They have organ- 
ized a company, and have offered me the position 
of manager. I need hardly tell you that poor dog 
as I am, I am very thankful for the bone.” 

“ Well, that is very nice indeed. Is it a good 
position ? ” she asked. 

“ It is the best they have to offer,” he answered. 
“ Thornhill goes along as engineer.” 

“ Mr. John Thornhill ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Who suggested you, Sefton? ” Laura inquired. 
He thought she looked somewhat puzzled. 

“ Huntington I hear. He has considerable 
stock in the company,” Trent returned rather re- 
luctantly. He did not like to mention that which 
was so obviously to the credit of his wealthy rival. 

Laura Forest understood. She made no com- 
ment. But in her mind, this action of Hunting- 
ton’s stood out as rather fine. It seemed to be 
generously helping his young rival to remove the 
one apparently insurmountable obstacle between 
himself and the woman he was supposed to love. 

But did Sefton Trent love her.? Laura turned 


34 


VICTORIA 


the question over and over and looked at it care- 
fully from all points of view as they talked about 
this new business venture of his that was taking him 
away from her. Perhaps she had been mistaken 
all along. Yet love has many languages, and 
surely, surely — Then she felt a hot wave surg- 
ing up from her throat to her fair white forehead 
where the hair of brownish gold rested like a crown. 

“ You ought to see this funny old farmer, 
Laura,” Trent was saying, and she became sud- 
denly conscious that he had been talking in the 
same strain for some little time while she had al- 
lowed her thoughts to stray. 

“ I beg your pardon, Sefton.” 

‘‘ As I was saying, this old farmer, Laura, is a 
perfect type of the country dweller we see pictured 
in the Sunday papers, a garrulous old good-na- 
tured fellow, shrewd and close at a bargain, possi- 
bly, but of that I cannot speak with certainty. A 
very good man probably; but fit for the comic 
stage.” 

Laura laughed — but not very mirthfully he 
thought. 

Thus the evening passed in the discussion of com- 
monplaces, for the most part; yet each was con- 
scious of a little difference in their relations some- 
how, a difference so vague it eluded analysis. The 
old, care-free spirit that characterized their meet- 
ings had given place to a slight feeling of restraint. 
And when Sefton rose to go, a little incident oc- 


VICTORIA 


35 


curred that had the effect of widening percepti- 
bly the distance between them. 

They were facing each other in the columned 
archway of the rose-colored parlor when, in taking 
his handkerchief from his pocket, a small photo- 
graph which Sefton evidently carried loose in that 
receptacle fell to the floor face upward. 

Fun-loving Laura darted forward and snatched 
the little square of cardboard from the floor before 
Trent had time to recover it. With the action, the 
embarrassment of the previous moments vanished, 
and her merry, girlish laugh rang out. “ In this 
manner are the most carefully-guarded secrets re- 
vealed,” she said with mock solemnity when she 
stopped laughing. 

She then carried the photograph tO' the great, 
low-hung electrolier in the main hall. It was the 
picture of a young girl in evening costume. Only 
the shapely head with its elaborately-dressed dark 
hair and the slim neck and bare shoulders were 
shown. 

In so far as beauty and personal charm were 
concerned, Laura Forest had few peers ; but the 
well-nigh perfect loveliness of the pictured face be- 
fore her aroused in her a sudden feeling of discon- 
tent, of vexation. In a vague, indefinable way she 
felt as though some injury had been done herself. 
A dread of something, indeterminate, intangible, 
she knew not what, clutched her like a chill hand 
for a moment, then as quickly passed. The face 


36 


VICTORIA 


which she lifted inquiringly to her companion’s 
when the inspection was over expressed just the 
proper degree of interest, and the dark blue eyes 
were smiling. 

“ Whose picture is it, Sefton ? ” she inquired 
lightly. 

On his part, the awkwardness he had exhibited 
in letting the photograph fall annoyed Trent 
deeply. His vexation, however, was not even sus- 
pected by the keen-eyed young woman. He took 
the picture with a quietly spoken : “ Thank you,” 

then added in a tone as light as her own : “ I have 

not the least idea in the world.” 

“ But why — why — ? ” 

Trent interrupted her quickly. “ Passing by a 
photographer’s place on Walnut Street yesterday, 
this face caught my eye. It was in the case with 
a number of others. It happened to be at the noon 
hour, and only a green boy was in charge of the 
gallery. So I had no difficulty in getting the pic- 
ture. That is the explanation. You now have all 
the testimony before the court.” 

“ And how charmingly romantic it is,” laughed 
Laura merrily. “ Sefton, you ought to be an art- 
ist and wear black velvet and lace ruffles instead of 
being a plain business man who is for the most part 
clad in dull gray and who can discuss ‘ quotations ’ 
and ‘profits’ and ‘points’! Irving’s Mount joy 
fell in love with a footstep you remember. But I 
am sure it is equally as delightful and mysterious 
to fall in love with a photograph in that way.” 


VICTORIA 


37 


“ I can scarcely be accused of that I think,” re- 
marked Trent dryly. 

Laura feigned surprise. “ But, of course, you 
are in love — ” 

“ I am,” he said, his eyes full upon her own. 

“ With the picture,” she finished lightly. Then 
without giving him time to speak, she added gaily : 
“ And now, after the manner of the popular bal- 
lad, you will ‘ Go forth and find. Go forth and 
find.’ ” 

“ Laura,” Trent said and stopped. The girl 
felt the color coming into her face, and the knowl- 
edge did not serve to make her very comfortable. 
Something she saw in his eyes — or thought she 
saw there — made that little tell-tale heart of hers 
give a sudden wild leap. But the picture of that 
beautiful, unknown girl — Perhaps the thought 
of it was responsible for a certain stiffness in her 
manner, usually so cordial, so gracious, a suspi- 
cion of coldness in her voice. 

“ I hope you will be eminently successful, Sef- 
ton,” she said, not waiting for him to speak fur- 
ther, if indeed, such had been his intention. 
“ That sounds like a newspaper, doesn’t it.? ” 

“ Yes ; they say it of dead men often,” he re- 
turned quietly. 

It has frequently been said that no power on 
earth can keep a man from telling his love — if he 
really has a love to tell. However, after the ex- 
change of a few meaningless commonplaces, these 
two good friends said good-bye at the door, a 


38 


VICTORIA 


proper good-bye it was — after the manner of the 
etiquette books really ; and Sefton Trent was gone. 

Laura Forest stood just where he had left her. 
Before her was a beautiful marble bas relief of 
the parting of Hector and Andromache which had 
occupied that little niche in the wall as long as she 
could remember. Somehow the true significance 
of it had never come to her before. The sadness 
of parting! A sense of sudden loss, a realization 
of the emptiness of life rushed over the girl with 
overwhelming force. Youth’s rose-colored world 
was turning to ashen grey. 

How long she stood there, Laura Forest could 
not have told; but when at last, she turned from 
her contemplation of the lovely bas relief, Richard 
Huntington was close beside her. She started 
nervously, struggling to regain her wonted com- 
posure and poise. “ Why, why, Mr. Hunting- 
ton I ” she exclaimed somewhat breathlessly, star- 
ing into his strong, pleasant face and forgetting to 
shake hands. 

Huntington did not notice the omission, how- 
ever, and linking her arm in his in real elder-broth- 
erly fashion, he led her into the little parlor where 
she had lately sat with Sefton Trent. 

“ It is too cold for you in the hall, Laura,” he 
said with much concern in his voice. “ You are 
positively chilly. You look pale and tired.” 

“ Please don’t mention all my drawbacks at 
once, Mr. Huntington,” she said, trying to speak 
with playful gayety, and succeeding remarkably. 


VICTORIA 


39 


“ It is not exactly fair. You see a girl wants to 
feel she is pretty to be at her best. I don’t sup- 
pose the most hideous girl suspects the full meas- 
ure of the hideousness.” 

“ Seriously, Laura, you are not looking well. 
You have too much society, child.” 

The girl shook her head emphatically. The 
eyes that smiled into his were very bright and very 
brave. Too bright, he thought, for perfect 
health. The bravery he could not suspect. 

“ You have the queerest way of dropping from 
the clouds, Mr. Huntington,” she said by way of 
changing the subject, taking the chair which he 
pointed out. 

“ The clouds happen to be Judge Warden’s li- 
brary just now,” he said gravely. “ I always take 
him when I cannot get you. But I hope I do not 
drop from the clouds too often like Kansas City 
raindrops.” 

“ You know you don’t. Sefton Trent was just 
telling me that — ” 

“ Sefton Trent. Was he here? I knew it was 
one of the vast admiration army. But I did not 
know which one,” he observed with a smile, yet the 
glance that accompanied the smile was quick and 
keen. “ And Trent was telling you what ? ” 

“ Why, Mr. Trent told me that he is going away. 
He is very grateful to you.” 

“ Grateful to me? Why should the fellow be 
grateful to me? Because I was born in the six- 
ties?” 


40 


VICTORIA 


“ For securing him a position as manager of 
some new zinc works down in Southern Kansas,” 
she corrected. “ Of course, he feels thankful. It 
was very good of you.” 

Huntington stared in astonishment. 

‘‘ Trent told you that I had gotten him a posi- 
tion? ” 

“ Yes. Why, didn’t you? ” 

‘‘ Indeed, I did not. I never invited the fellow 
to leave town in any such way. See here, Laura, 
I want only one thing in life very much, which is 
to marry you the minute you are willing. But I’m 
not going to win you by cutting off the heads of 
other men. I dare say Trent thinks he sees 
through my great kindness. For he must think 
something. Sefton Trent is not a stupid by any 
means.” 

“ Well, he seems very thankful, anyway,” said 
Laura rather lamely. “ I don’t think he had a 
suspicion of any motive but the kindest.” 

“ Well, I don’t feel kindly toward him,” said 
Huntington. ‘‘ He is entirely too devoted to the 
girl I want myself.” 

At this, of course, both laughed. Laura was the 
first to speak. 

“ Whose influence secured him the position, 
then ? ” she inquired. 

“ Why, Judge Warden insisted on his being 
given the place of manager. Strange he didn’t 
tell you.” 

Laura Forest thought it strange indeed. But 


VICTORIA 


4*1 


her grandfather’s reasons for such kindness to 
Trent were quite clear to her. Long she pondered 
over the affair after Huntington had left her, over 
this and many other things. For, after all, were 
there not a great many unsatisfactory things in 
life scattered right along side by side with the 
pleasant ones ? 


CHAPTER IV 


The farmhouse kitchen was large and comfort- 
able, with windows on three sides and a covered 
gallery in the rear; but it seemed only a cramped 
space to Ray Greer one glorious morning in early 
June. For Ray wanted all out of doors to be 
happy in. That was why she stepped out to the 
garden when the watchful eye of her grandmother 
was for a moment withdrawn. 

It was her own particular care, that tiny flower 
garden, and how she loved the tenderly-nurtured 
blossoms. At her feet the gorgeous little nastur- 
tiums ran riot, a veritable tangle of scarlet, orange 
and gold. Gay hollyhocks nodded familiarly to 
her from their long swaying stalks. Giant sun- 
flowers turned their bold brown and yellow faces 
eastward to the sun. Stooping, the girl brushed 
her cheek lightly against the hollyhocks and laid 
caressing hands upon the one purple bloom left to 
mourn in lonely grandeur on a stunted lilac bush. 

It was in a sense a visit of farewell; yet there 
was no hint of sorrow in the girl’s wide blue eyes. 
A wondrous new light, the light of love and perfect 
trust, glowed there instead. 

For it was Ray Greer’s wedding day. Even as 
she stood there idly dreaming among the luxuriant 
42 


VICTORIA 


43 


summer flowers, the sounds of unusual bustle and 
excitement within doors came to her ears. In the 
barnyard, the hired man, released from field duties 
for the day, whistled a cheerful love tune as he 
hitched old “ Whiteface ” to the “ democrat.” 
There were things to be brought from Galena. 

“ Bless yer soul ! mother, at this rate, the hull 
shootin’ match’ll be driv to death ’fore night. 
Can’t ye jus’ let up a leetle.? ” 

It was her father’s voice. The girl among the 
gorgeous summer flowers laughed lightly to her- 
self. When one has lived for eighty years and has 
never been known to “ let up ” during all that 
time, the request was not without its humorous 
side. Even before her laughter had died away, the 
old lady’s prompt response floated to her grand- 
daughter’s ears. 

“ Well, I guess there ain’t a-goin’ to be no par- 
ticular lettin’ up in this house this day, leastways 
till all them meats is sliced, an’ the cakes all baked, 
an’ them that’s baked cut an’ — ” the clatter of pans 
and the steady beat, beat of an egg-beater in en- 
ergetic hands drowned the imperative enumerations 
of the old lady. 

“ Ra-a-ay ! Ra-a-ay ! ” 

The girl’s loving glance lingered on the flowers 
for a long minute, then she ran lightly back to the 
house. 

“ Well, I never, Ray Greer! With all thet’s to 
be done this day, an’ things cornin’ dost to sp’ilin’ 
fer you to be a-moonin’ oflp there in them flower 


44 . 


VICTORIA 


beds. It does beat all the way you two gals kin 
waste time. I rec’lect the day I was married I 
had to git up at half past four in the^ mornin’ an 
cook breakfast fer a fambly o’ ten. In my time, 
gals worked, I kin tell ye.” 

“ Looks like you mus’ be powerful anxious to 
git married, mother, to be stirrin’ so early,” her 
son observed slyly with a wink at the blushing Ray 
who began measuring out some flour in a bowl 
without delay. 

Mr. Greer vanished through the doorway, his 
mother’s scornful glance falling harmlessly upon 
the back of his head. The egg-beater was silent 
for a minute. Victoria Greer — for she was the 
wielder of the useful little instrument — looked re- 
proachfully upon the straight, rigid figure and 
strong, severe face of her grandmother. 

“ I think you an’ me ought to do ev’rything to- 
day, Granny,” she ventured gently. “ Ray’ll be 
so tired she’ll be jus’ ready to drop if she’s to keep 
a-goin’ all day. A bride ought to look nice.” 

“ Look nice ? ” snapped the disgusted old lady. 
“ Look nice, indeed ! Who’s to keep her fum 
lookin’ as the Lord made her, I should like to know.? 
Work never hurt anybody’s looks yet. What fool- 
ishness! I’ve knowed women in my time as did a 
day’s washin’ an’ made as pretty brides as any 
lazy, lollygaggin’ women nowadays. Hangin’ 
around ain’t my way. It never was. An’ the man 
as gits you two gals ain’t a-goin’ to have no call 


VICTORIA 


45 


to say I’ve brung ye up to eat the bread o’ idle- 
ness.” 

Both girls laughed merrily. 

“ It’ll take two men to get us, Gran,” observed 
Victoria very quietly, but the old lady gave a sniff 
of disgust. The troublesome restrictions imposed 
by grammar troubled her not at all. 

“ Well, grandma, I’m sure I’m perfectly willin’ 
to make cakes for my own wedding,” said the cheer- 
ful Ray. “ Ben says I can cook jus’ to suit him, 
an’ I have you to thank for what I know. I’m go- 
ing to try to be as good a housekeeper as you are.” 

Mrs. Greer showed no pleasure at receiving this 
compliment. It was not her way. She did not 
even look at the girl when she spoke. 

‘‘ Well, Ben Hill ought to like yer cookin’, Ray. 
He ought to. Victoria, them eggs is stiff as bricks 
a’ready.” 

Victoria started. 

“ Why, so they is ! ” she exclaimed, taking up the 
bowl containing the yelks and applying herself vig- 
orously to the beating of these. Ray, meanwhile, 
creamed butter and sugar in a huge saucepan, smil- 
ing occasionally at the old woman’s discourse. 

“ Yes ; I think, Ray, ’at Ben Hill’ll have no cause 
to feel ashamed o’ his house. An’ his mother was 
a master hand at managin’ in her day, too, so he 
has some sense ’bout things. I see you’re always 
mighty partic’lar ’bout yer comers. Corners tell 
a lot more ’bout housekeepin’ than the middle o’ 


46 


VICTORIA 


the floor does. Comers an’ dishrags. La [ I al- 
ways thought Sarah Briggs was a triflin’ sort o’ 
woman, but kep’ it to myself, fer I wa’n’t a-goin’ 
to have a hand in no hurtful gossip ; but I tell ye 
them dishrags o’ hers looked as though they never 
was b’iled. An’ dishrags, constant in use, ought 
to have a pinch o’ soda in the water an’ be b’iled 
an’ b’iled, an’ then — ” 

“ Gran, you say Ray’s a good housekeeper. 
Ain’t I one, too ? ” demanded Victoria demurely, 
with a side glance at her sister. 

The old lady’s grim countenance did not relax. 
Neither did she pause in her occupation, which was 
polishing tumblers. The tumblers were of the 
heavy, serviceable kind, which was well, considering 
the violent treatment they were receiving. 

“ You’re a good hand ez fur ez work goes, Vic- 
toria ; but you don’t take no sort o’ ’sponsibility,” 
grumbled Mrs. Greer. ‘‘ You kin git through 
more’n yer sister when ye try, but ye depend on 
yuther people fer the brains to direck. I’m a-goin’ 
to do more fer ye, child, in learnin’ ye things when 
Ray goes.” 

The elder sister laughed at the dismayed face of 
Victoria. 

“ Doak Tibbs’ wife’ll have to live ’ith his mother, 
grandma,” she said. 

Victoria tossed her head scornfully. 

“ Doak Tibbs’ wife ain’t a-goin’ to be me. I kin 
jus’ tell ye that ! ” she exclaimed rather hotly. “ I 


VICTORIA 47 

despise Doak Tibbs, an’ I’ll tell him so, too, jus’ 
as soon as I get a chance.” 

Ray looked a little frightened. 

“ I wouldn’t hurt his feelin’s, Vic,” she said with 
gentle persuasion. “ Doak’s a good fellow. All 
the girls like him. Ben says he’s all right.” 

But the beater of the eggs only gave a disdainful 
sniff. 

“ Doak Tibbs is the makin’ of a man to my no- 
tion,” asserted Mrs. Greer. “ Take my advice an’ 
don’t turn him down everlastin’ly. Men’ll stand a 
good deal; but the mos’ o’ them comes to a p’int 
when they won’t stand any more. I see Betty 
Simmons a-lookin’ her prettiest at Doak to meetin’ 
only las’ Sunday. Ye might go further an’ fare 
worse, child, an’ yer pa’ll tell ye the same thing.” 

“ La ! Gran, ye talk as though ye wanted to 
get rid o’ me. Why, I ain’t only sixteen. That’s 
too young to be thinkin’ ’bout gettin’ married. 
Betty Simmons’s sister is a’most thirty,” Victoria 
said with a very becoming little pout. 

“ I was married at sixteen an’ settled down. 
There ain’t no partic’lar good in waitin’ so fur ez 
I kin see,” observed the grandmother dryly. “ I 
ain’t got any patience ’ith this flirtin’ round my- 
self an’ I — ” 

“ Here’s Betty Simmons an’ Lyda Boyd ! ” ex- 
claimed Victoria jumping up and rushing to the 
window. “ They’re jus’ to the elm right now. I 
guess they’re cornin’ to help.” 


48 


VICTORIA 


“ Yes ; they’ve come to help me in fixin’ up the 
sittin’-room. We’re going to trim ’ith flowers,” 
said Ray, running to the window also. “ See, 
grandma, why, they’ve got a hull wash tub full of 
flowers ! ” 

“ Let’s fix the room up beautiful ! ” exclaimed 
Victoria, dropping her work and rushing out to 
meet the visitors, followed by the calmer Ray. 

The two girls who came to assist were tying their 
horses to a convenient poplar tree. Their laugh- 
ing banter floated back to the old lady in the 
kitchen. She looked blankly at the discarded in- 
gredients of the cake for a moment, then set grimly 
to work at combining them into a whole. 

“ Oh, them gals ! Them gals ! ” she said slowly 
to herself ; but the bride’s merry laughter pealed 
forth just then, a long ripple of perfect melody, 
and her worn old face softened into something very 
like a smile. 

Lyda Boyd came into the kitchen, an arm twined 
afipectionately around the slim waist of Victoria. 

“ Good momin’, grandma. Busy, I guess. 
Well, we’ve come to help. An’ we passed Mis’ 
Paschall an’ Mis’ Moody back on the road there a 
little way. They’re cornin’ to help, too. I don’t 
suppose there’s any danger o’ the work givin’ out. 
They had only old lame Bill to the buggy. Said 
the men was workin’ both teams. My, how erood it 
smells ! ” 

Meanwhile, the sound of heavy furniture being 
dragged hither and thither in the sitting-room told 


VICTORIA 


49 


that Ray and Betty had begun on the rearrange- 
ment of the apartment where the ceremony was to 
take place. Mr. Greer and the hired man had al- 
ready removed the entire furnishings from the bed- 
room off the kitchen where the tables were to be 
placed. 

Victoria bobbed her head gayly to some one out- 
side the window. 

“ Granny, here’s Mis’ Paschall an’ Mis’ 
Moody ! ” she exclaimed. “ La ! they’ve got a heap 
o’ dishes. Let’s help ’em in, Lyde.” 

“ I hope they haven’t gone an’ forgot them table- 
cloths,” said the old lady anxiously. “ It’s full 
time them tables wus laid out.” 

“ My goodness ! grandma, ye talk like some one 
was dead,” Miss Boyd remarked with a mock 
shudder. ‘‘ Yes ; there’s the tablecloths. Mis’ 
Moody’s a-bringin’ ’em in. Come, Vic.” 

The work of laying the two long tables com- 
menced forthwith. These were fashioned of 
boards securely nailed to frames at both ends. It 
was not intended to seat all the guests at once. 
Old Mrs. Greer, who was capable of directing the 
movements of an army, would see to it that no one 
went empty away. 

“ Come, come, girls. We want you in here,” 
called Betty Simmons bursting into the kitchen 
with a great show of energy. “ Come on, an’ help 
’ith the flowers. I never knew Ray so daffy.” 

Of course, there was a general laugh at this, 
and Lyda and Victoria went to the assistance of the 


50 


VICTORIA 


busy Betty who, to make use of Victoria’s very un- 
complimentary words, had succeeded in “ fairly 
messin’ the hull thing.” 

Miss Simmons had, in fact, made some very 
grave mistakes. The reed organ was laden with 
flowers, when as everybody knew, it would have to 
he opened when Mrs. Moody began to play the 
wedding march, thus necessitating the removal of 
the profuse floral offerings. Above the musical 
instrument hung a large wood cut of “ Daniel Web- 
ster Addressing the Senate.” The cords which 
held this patriotic piece of art in place were twined 
with startlingly gay blossoms, which decoration did 
not meet the approval of the younger Miss Greer, 
either. 

‘‘ I can’t abide that picture,” she explained. 
“ I jus’ can’t. I don’t care if Webster was smart, 
he mus’ ha’ been terribly homely. People won’t 
notice it so much if ’tain’t all fixed up ’ith flowers.” 

Naturally Miss Simmons felt slightly offended. 

“ You always was the fussiest thing I ever knew 
any way, Victoria Greer,” she said. “ Where’s 
Brother Meeker goin’ to stand.^ ” 

Victoria went on ruthlessly tearing down the la- 
bor of Miss Simmons’ hands. “ Ask Ray. She 
knows,” was her indifferent reply. 

In the sunshine of Ray’s cheery presence, of 
course, Betty’s anger evaporated speedily. Moun- 
tains had a way of shrinking into mole hills under 
the calm influence of her smile. The unruffled 
Victoria paused not in her work of destruction 


VICTORIA 


51 


either for explanation or apology. But the build- 
ing-up process justified her harsh methods. The 
ugly, common place room was really transformed 
under the magic of a truly artistic touch. 

Unperceived, Ray gave her an appreciative hug. 

“Vic, you are a reg’lar little brick! It’s 
lookin’ just as sweet as can be a’ready,” she whis- 
pered. “ How do you ever do things so easy-like 
an’ have ’em come out so beautiful.^ ” 

“ Many hands make light work,” and so much 
was accomplished during the day that even Mrs. 
Greer forgot to hurry people. By seven o’clock, 
the little farmhouse was in festive, holiday array, 
and at that early hour, the guests began to ar- 
rive. Mr. Greer in a somewhat shiny suit of 
black, and wearing a collar of unusual height, met 
all arrivals with elaborately effusive hospitality. 
His mother, rigid of spine and unrelenting as to 
facial expression, did the honors of her son’s home 
with a certain grim graciousness that was not de- 
void of charm, greeting the guests with the im- 
partiality of a district judge and with far more 
severity of aspect than is ordinarily encountered 
in our halls of justice. 

Mrs. Greer wore for the first time the black bril- 
liantine which her granddaughters had pur- 
chased for her in Kansas City, and while openly 
deploring her son’s extravagance, the old lady ex- 
perienced considerable inward satisfaction which 
not even Amos himself was allowed to detect. 

Mrs. Moody and Mrs. Paschall ably assisted 


52 


VICTORIA 


Mr. Greer and his mother, having brought their 
“ best ” with them in the morning. Betty Sim- 
mons and Lyda Boyd had driven back to their 
respective homes late in the afternoon for a change 
of raiment and returned in a blaze of glory with 
two young men captives in their train. 

Where every one knows every one else, formal- 
ity is, of course, not to be expected. However, a 
few among the older women signalled for less mer- 
riment when the Reverend W. Meeker was seen 
descending from his light buggy at the gate. 

Conversation sank to a subdued murmur, a 
“ temporary lull ” only ; for a genuine quiver of 
excitement ran through the company when two 
young men never seen before were observed shaking 
hands cordially with Mr. Greer. True, the host ad- 
vanced to meet them with some slight inward 
trepidation. These guests had been invited with- 
out the permission of his “ women folks,” one of 
whom at least was a force not to be lightly disre- 
garded. But Amos did the best thing possible. 
He courageously summoned all his pluck and met 
the old lady’s eagle glance without flinching. 

“ Mother, I want to mek you acquainted with 
two gentlemen fum the zinc works. Jus’ come to 
town. Mr. Trent and Mr. Thornhill. I thought 
mebbe they’d like to see how we do things down 
our way.” 

Mrs. Greer put out a hand that was not too 
friendly. She could see at a glance that the 


VICTORIA 


5S 


affable-looking young fellows before her were city 
men, and she heartily disapproved of all dwellers 
in those hot-beds of vice, cities and towns ; but as 
she afterward remarked to her son, she hoped she 
knew what manners was, an’ wa’n’t a-goin’ to give 
the cold shoulder to no one in her own house. 

Mrs. Paschall rustled forward to conduct the 
strangers to seats; but Trent and Thornhill po- 
litely declined. Few of the men were seated. 
They overflowed into the yard instead. Some few 
were stationed outside the windows through which 
they hoped to view the ceremony later on. 

The two city men obligingly flattened themselves 
against a convenient wall where they were at once 
securely penned by good old Sister Flounce, who 
tipped the scales at two hundred and forty 
pounds. This lady apparently intended to crush 
them without the least remorse. 

The organ pealed forth, and a little subdued 
murmur of expectation swept through the crowd. 
There was the sound of feet upon the stairs. A 
small boy announced: “They’re a- cornin’,” in 
an audible voice, and had his breath promptly 
shaken out of him by his scandalized mother. 

The bride in simple white muslin, slow-moving, 
dignified, her face far too rosy and her abundant 
hair far too red, yet fair, sweet and womanly 
withal ; the great giant by her side, strong, manly, 
fearless, — these John Thornhill saw as he gazed. 
But his silent friend beside him had no eyes for the 


54 


VICTORIA 


bridal pair. Neither did he see the over-fat youth 
who officiated in the capacity of best man and who 
was none other than Doak Tibbs. 

When a man has looked day after day into a 
pictured face until its every feature is indelibly im- 
printed upon his brain, it is but natural that all 
other objects should fall away and be as nothing 
when the face becomes veritable flesh and blood be- 
fore him. And Victoria Greer was the lady of Sef- 
ton Trent’s treasured photograph. 

The room was very still. The bride’s faintly- 
spoken responses were scarcely heard, strange con- 
trast to the great, deep tones of the man. The 
bridesmaid’s face alone was sad ; great tears 
trembled on the long black lashes; she dared not 
lift her eyes. The terrible fear that she was go- 
ing to break down and cry before all these people 
lay heavy upon her. To lose Ray! In all those 
past months it had not seemed so sad, so solemn. 
Now Ray was going away. She wanted to hate 
Ben Hill; yet strangely enough, she could not. 
No wonder poor little Victoria looked so doleful. 
How was she ever going to face all these good 
friends who came crowding around the bridal 
pair.f^ She was making strenuous efforts to re- 
gain control of herself in which she was greatly 
helped by the good-natured Tibbs who whispered 
slyly in her ear: 

“ Gosh I Vic, don’t ye wish ’twas us ? ” 

Victoria laughed lightly and her voice came 
back. 


VICTORIA 


55 


“ Not much I don’t,” she told him, and her en- 
tire lack of embarrassment would have been dis- 
couraging to a keener observer than Mr. Tibbs. 

“ This is my baby gal, my daughter, Victoria.” 

It was her father’s voice. She turned quickly 
and put out a small, hot hand. The next moment 
she was looking full into the face of Sefton Trent. 

“ I am indeed pleased to make Miss Greer’s ac- 
quaintance.” 

“ Mr. Trent Oh, you are one of the new 
gentlemen down at the zinc works. But pop never 
tol’ us you was cornin’. That is jus’ like pop. 
But I’m awful glad you come.” There was no 
doubt of the girl’s sincerity. 

But how pitifully commonplace was the meeting. 
Trent could not help thinking of Laura Forest, 
who appeared to have a positive genius for saying 
the right thing at the right time. How graciously 
she would have welcomed a guest to her home, be 
he prince or beggar. But this little prairie flower 
was far more beautiful than the Kansas City heir- 
ess. Trent watched the faint color flow upward 
from her slender neck to the middle of her satin- 
smooth cheek under the warmth of his glance, then 
slowly recede, leaving her paler than before. 

Victoria Greer had not read many books in her 
life. But the few she was familiar with boasted 
heroes and heroines that lived in stately palaces 
and indulged in high-flown conversation distin- 
guished for its elegance and corresponding un- 
naturalness in all situations. 


56 


VICTORIA 


Alas for realism! The goddesses in those ro- 
mances never referred to their venerable sires as 
“ pop.” 

Trent presented Thornhill, and both men were 
forthwith introduced to Doak Tibbs, who recog- 
nized them as enemies. 

“ They’re all goin’ to supper. Time we was 
movin’, Vic,” he observed rather sulkily for him, 
Tibbs being a remarkably good-tempered youth. 
He resented the presence of the city gentlemen at 
the wedding on general principles, having little lik- 
ing for those of his fellows who chose to dwell in 
towns. He resented the undisguised admiration in 
Sefton Trent’s eyes. Most of all, he resented the 
two little dancing yellow lights that suddenly 
flamed into life in Victoria Greer’s great hazel-grey 
eyes. 

Doak Tibbs had never been considered brilliant, 
save by his adoring mother, and perhaps a man 
does not have to be very clever to put his finger on 
a possible rival. He would have enjoyed nothing 
better than choking the smiling Sefton ; yet Thorn- 
hill, equally as well-favored, awoke no such un- 
charitable emotions in his breast. 

But the bride and bridegroom were already on 
the way to the supper room. Doak grasped his 
lady’s arm. “ Come,” said he. “ They’re 
waitin’.” 

Victoria lingered long enough to say very pleas- 
antly : 


VICTORIA 57 

“ You can come, too, Mr. Trent. There’s 
lots o’ room.” 

Betty Simmons came up in some excitement. 

“ Goodness me, Vic ! They’re all a-waitin’ fer 
you an’ Doak. Hurry up. Brother Meeker’s 
goin’ to ask the blessin’.” 

So the party rushed away, Victoria whispering 
a hurried introduction to the strangers. Betty 
Simmons at once took possession of Mr. Thornhill, 
leaving to Miss Greer the task of entertaining the 
other two. 

Poor Doak ! Manifestly he was the one member 
of the bridal party who had cause for complaint. 
The bride at the head of the long table with her 
great, adoring giant of a husband on one side, and 
the jolly, talkative clergyman on the other, was 
fairly radiant with happiness. Mr. Hill was not 
a shy man. He was not at all averse to being con- 
sidered the proudest man in Kansas. Victoria 
was receiving the devotion of the new city gentle- 
man with some very pretty little airs of import- 
ance, not even vouchsafing the unfortunate “ best 
man ” a look. 

Yet it was only in the mind of Mr. Tibbs that 
Victoria Greer was giving herself “ airs.” To tell 
the truth, she was not showing any very great ex- 
ultation, but receiving Sefton Trent’s attentions 
very quietly, being by no means unconscious of 
her charms. From babyhood, she had accepted 
the homage of men from her old worshipful father 


58 


VICTORIA 


to the gallant youths of the countryside as her just 
due. Her experience with men had not taught the 
spoiled rural beauty humility. 

‘‘ Victoria.” 

Ben Hill leaned forward and engaged his new 
sister in conversation. Trent, meanwhile, con- 
templated the arrangement of the girl’s dark hair 
and wondered why he was reminded of Laura For- 
est. In regard to feature and coloring, there was 
no similarity between the two faces. It came to 
him then that the silvery grey dress with its clus- 
ters of pale pink roses was exactly like one Miss 
Forest had worn. He recalled her pleasure when 
he praised the little simple frock one day. The 
girl beside him turned her smiling face toward him. 

“ Ben’s so ridic’lous ! ” she exclaimed. 

Not having heard the facetious remarks of Mr. 
Hill, Trent was not in a position to agree. He 
turned the conversation into other channels. 

“ I trust you will pardon my speaking of your 
dress, Miss Greer; but I have a friend in Kansas 
City who wears one just like it. I told her once 
it was the prettiest gown I ever saw. You see I 
have to express admiration for yours, also.” 

“ Oh ! I like folks to say they admire my clothes,” 
Victoria remarked with childish frankness. “ I 
made ev’ry bit o’ this dress my own self. Ain’t I 
smart.? ” 

Trent laughed. He was finding her artlessness 
really charming. 

“ You are, indeed,” he told her, and refrained 


VICTORIA 59 

from informing her that he was much opposed to 
the use of that odious word, “ smart.” 

“ Who is the Kansas City lady ? ” Victoria in- 
quired presently. “ What is her name ? ” Feel- 
ing sure that she already knew, it was no surprise 
to her when Trent’s prompt reply came. 

“ Miss Forest.” 

Is she an awful pretty girl.^ ” 

“ Every one says so.” 

“ But do you say so.? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you like her.? ” He fancied her voice fal- 
tered a little. 

‘‘ Oh, yes. We have been friends a long time. 
Good friends.” 

Victoria did not like the tone in which he spoke 
of Miss Forest. She did not tell him that she had 
heard of the lady before. But she did then and 
there decide that she disliked the grand city girl 
most heartily. 

“ I guess you won’t be a-carin’ much ’bout any 
of the country girls if you know many of ’em in 
the city.” 

The downward inflection carried with it a cer- 
tain sadness. Trent detected the note of jealousy 
and was flattered. 

“ You must not think that,” he said with much 
earnestness. “ I assure you I could name one 
little country girl that I care a great deal about 
just now.” 


60 


VICTORIA 


He bent his eyes full upon her. Victoria 
glanced up quickly. 

“ I guess I made you say that,” she laughed. 

The bride’s cake was cut amid much merriment, 
Victoria, Thornhill and Trent taking their turn 
with the others, Thornhill alone being lucky. The 
dime was discovered hiding itself in the very last 
mouthful. 

All the young ladies felt carefully of their por- 
tions before eating, and the surprise expressed 
when a certain Miss Selina Mounts held up the ring 
was scarcely complimentary to that delighted and 
triumphant maiden whose homeliness was of the 
startlingly aggressive variety. Thornhill, from 
the depths of his kind heart, felt glad for her. 
Even that small measure of encouragement was not 
to be despised, he thought. 

And poor Doak Tibbs ! Ill fortune still pur- 
sued that unlucky youtb. With flaming face, he 
extracted the darning-needle from his generous 
slice of cake. 

The cutting of the cake seemed the signal for 
an instant and insistent call for music. To the 
deep disgust of Sefton Trent, Victoria was borne 
forcibly oflp by a bevy of rollicking girls to play 
“ chords,” and he was left to account for his pres- 
ence there in a sort of catechism propounded by a 
sharp-eyed old lady intended by Nature for a 
lawyer. 

All who possessed voices — and a few who did 
not — joined in the singing, the bride’s clear so- 


VICTORIA 


61 


prano being heard to good advantage, and the 
bridegroom’s thundering bass swelling to a roar of 
tremendous power at times. 

Trent was immensely relieved to see that Vic- 
toria took no part in the singing. To be sure 
she played the “ chords ” — much too loud they 
were — but he looked upon that offense as pardon- 
able. 

Love songs, patriotic airs. Gospel hymns — all 
were sung with equal fervor, the concert being pro- 
longed until a late hour. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hill made no attempt to give the 
company the slip. The singing over, two obliging 
young men offered to help the bridegroom “ hitch- 
up,” and amid a pelting shower of rice and a rain 
of old shoes which fortunately killed no one as 
they fell, the bridal pair entered their light wagon 
and set off down the dim ribbon of country road 
to their new home seven miles away. They were 
the recipients of several useful presents which 
would be conveyed to their destination in install- 
ments. 

But the live stock were given places with their 
owners in the light wagon. It was when the first 
slight elevation in the road was reached, that a 
lusty young Leghorn rooster saw fit to crow shrilly, 
triumphantly, twice, whereat Ray’s favorite Jersey 
calf, not to be outdone by his feathered neighbor, 
sent forth a weak, plaintive wail. 

Trent and Thornhill, trudging silently back to 
Galena, stopped suddenly. 


62 


VICTORIA 


“ Good Heavens ! Thorny, to think they do not 
see the humor of the thing'. It’s sublime ! ” ex- 
claimed Trent. 

“ It just proves that there are people in the 
world who have no false pride,” commented Thorn- 
hill quietly. 

The two men were not far from Galena when 
Trent broke the silence. 

‘‘ I suppose you recognize in Miss Victoria my 
picture girl.” 

“ What.?^ ” exclaimed his companion in surprise. 
“ Of course. How stupid I am. I knew her face 
had a familiar look. Well, that’s one trouble off 
your mind, Seft.” 

“ On the contrary, it’s an added trouble,” said 
Trent moodily. 

“ I see nothing about meeting that little country 
girl that is very disturbing,” remarked Thornhill 
quietly. 

The indifference which the tone conveyed jarred 
upon Trent. 

“ I think I will marry that girl. Thorn,” he said 
tentatively. 

John Thornhill stopped just where he was and 
stared at the speaker in dumb amazement. 

“Good God!” he ejaculated presently; then 
broke into a loud, reckless laugh. “ ‘ The Lord of 
Burleigh,’ and ‘ King Cophetua and the Beggar 
Maid,’ and all the rest of the romantic brother- 
hood ! From Miss Forest to the little Greer. 
What a fall I ” He whistled a strain from a tire- 


VICTORIA 63 

some old ballad which had been rendered at the 
wedding. 

“ You know there is nothing between Laura 
Forest and myself.” 

“ I don’t know. I know that all Kansas City 
says you are engaged.” 

“ All Kansas City doesn’t happen to know. 
Miss Greer is beautiful.” 

“ She is. But, Trent, it seems the Burleigh 
match didn’t exactly turn out well. But perhaps 
King Cophetua was more fortunate. Let us hope 
so, at any rate.” 

“ Don’t be a fool, Thornhill. I grant you she 
is an ignorant little country girl. Couldn’t you 
fancy any man — yourself for instance — loving 
her well enough to overlook her faults; her draw- 
backs, rather.? ” 

“ Great Heavens ! You aren’t in earnest.? You 
cannot mean that you would marry the girl.? 
Candidly, what I or any other man would do is not 
the question. The question concerns only his fas- 
tidious High Mightiness, Sefton Trent. For him, 
I say no.” 


CHAPTER V 


“ Mother.” 

Mrs. Greer walked into the kitchen from the sit- 
ting-room where she had been engaged ever since 
dinner in a vigorous campaign against invading 
dust. Her weapons of war, a huge dusting-cloth 
of old flannel and a well-worn black turkey wing, 
were borne aggressively, one in either hand. She 
had the air of a person who would suffer hut a mo- 
mentary interruption in the dusting process. 

“ Hey, Amos ” she asked sharply. 

But her son had the annoying habit of many 
good-tempered people. No matter how important 
was the communication he was about to make, he 
took his own time. His mother watched him with 
visible impatience as he carefully placed the vine- 
gar jug upon the table, took the weekly newspaper 
from his pocket and deposited a box of matches 
and a package of sugar upon the table beside the 
vinegar. 

“ Here’s yer things,” he announced briefly. 
“ Sugar’s gone up ag’in.” 

Mr. Greer was apparently trying hard to appear 
unconcerned ; but there was an alertness in his step 
and a suppressed twinkle in his eye not lost upon 
the observant old lady. 


64 


VICTORIA 


65 


“ What is it, Amos ? ” she demanded impatiently. 
Delays were not dangerous to Mrs. Greer; they 
were intolerable. 

“ Well, they’ve struck zinc down to the works. 
That’s all ! ” he exclaimed triumphantly. “ I 
come by there on the way home fum town. There’s 
jack there, plenty of it, ye kin bet.” The news 
imparted, Mr. Greer dropped into a convenient 
chair, and drew a long breath. 

Victoria was industriously ironing her best per- 
cale dress near the open window. She dropped 
the flatiron and rushed at her father. 

“ Goodness me, pop 1 Why in the world didn’t 
ye say so when ye come in first ? ” she screamed 
while her grandmother ran to the rescue of the best 
percale dress. 

“ Victoria Greer ! Of all crazy doin’s I ever 
see. Ye set the hot scorchin’ iron right onto this 
here dress. Yer ez much too fast ez yer pa’s too 
slow.” 

The girl walked leisurely back to the ironing 
table. But she did not resume her work at once. 
With sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks she stood 
looking from one to the other, being careful to 
hold the heated flatiron away from the recently- 
imperilled gown this time. 

The old lady grunted, a somewhat unusual way 
of showing satisfaction. 

“ Mercy me ! It’s no news to me,” she said 
rather scornfully. “ I knowed all along there 
wuz zinc on this farm or them town folks wouldn’t 


66 


VICTORIA 


ha’ been so powerful anxious to sink all thet ma- 
chinery. An’ I knowed too thet you had some- 
thin’ to tell the fust blessed minute I set eyes on 
ye this afternoon, Amos Greer.” 

The owner of the farm grinned delightedly, and 
getting up from his chair, walked across the 
kitchen very deliberately, and helped himself to a 
gourdful of spring water from a bucket on the 
bench. 

Victoria followed him with her eyes. “ We’ll 
be rich, won’t we, pop ? ” she asked, almost breath- 
less with excitement. 

“ Well, ye’d best go on with yer ironin’, an’ not 
let it turn yer head,” advised her grandmother 
grimly; but the father bent upon his daughter a 
look of unutterable tenderness. 

“ We mustn’t be too hard on our one baby, 
mother,” he said gently, and resuming his chair, he 
lapsed into a silence which Mrs. Greer did not 
break. She knew he was thinking of the frail, 
lovely young woman who had slipped out of his 
life when this daughter so much like her was a 
tiny, cooing thing whose life could be reckoned not 
by years but by months. That other Victoria had 
borne but illy the hardships, the privations of 
those early years. That it had not been possible 
to surround her with more comforts during their 
brief married life was still a source of poignant 
grief to Amos Greer. Now, that wealth was to be 
his at last, the daughter should have all the gentle 


VICTORIA 


67 


young mother had lacked. His dreams were 
rather rudely interrupted by the daughter whose 
resemblance to the beautiful dead mother was more 
a thing of form and feature than of character and 
disposition. 

“ I say, pop, we can have a wing built to the 
house now, can’t we? An’ let’s have a new carpet, 
a kind o’ greyish-blue ’ith no flowers nor spots on 
it. An’ I ’mos’ forgot, pop, we ought to have a 
piano ; an’ a new armchair fer you ; an’ a great big 
rockin’-chair fer Gran; an’ we jus’ mus’ bum up 
ol’ Daniel Webster: an’ there ain’t no decent dishes 
nor nothin’ ; an’ I want a — ” 

The amused father clapped two hands to his 
ears to shut out the girl’s words, and turned a 
face of mock-fright toward the rigid old lady near 
the outer door. ‘‘ Guess we ain’t got ez much ez 
we thought we had, mother,” he said, laughing up- 
roariously. “ Are ye right sure ye don’t want an 
automobile an’ a balloon. Tot ? ” he asked. 

Victoria looked a trifle ashamed ; but she j oined 
in the laugh. 

“ Well, any way, pop, ye know we need lots an’ 
lots o’ things. An’ you’ll jus’ have to buy yer- 
self some new clothes, too.” 

The old lady met the girl’s quick-glancing ha- 
zel-grey eyes with stony indifference. “ Well, 
what we’ve got is good enough fer me,” she an- 
nounced coldly. “ I never did see the sense o’ 
apin’ rich folks no way.” 


68 


VICTORIA 


“ But, Gran, ye know pop’s always been sayin’ 
we needed a wing to the house,” persisted Victoria. 
“ Haven’t ye, pop? ” 

But the appeal to her father called forth no 
answer. Amos Greer was far too diplomatic to 
take sides in any dispute between his “ women 
folks.” He parried the question. 

“ Ther ain’t exackly been any cash realized ez 
yet,” he told them. “ So there’s no hurry. In 
the meantime, Vic, don’t get yerself into a fever. 
The money won’t run away, nor the zinc either.” 
He caught at his daughter’s hand playfully and 
attempted to feel her pulse. Victoria looked up 
at him, a kind of slow wonder in her ey^s. 

“ I ain’t really excited ye see, pop. ’Twould 
take a lot to do that I mistrust. I guess I’m 
queer. Sometimes I think I am. I jus’ can’t be 
good an’ sweet like Ray. It ain’t in me. Gran 
says I’m flighty.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed 
her father’s rough cheek as she spoke, then went 
slowly back to her ironing. 

To be rich! A wonderful vista of gorgeously 
beautiful things, heretofore only dreamed of, not 
hoped for, certainly never expected, opened up be- 
fore her, a vista in which such commonplace arti- 
cles as flatirons and percale dresses had no part. 
Riches meant idleness, travel, jewels, silken dresses 
and bright rooms. She looked up quickly, un- 
pleasantly conscious that observant eyes were 
somehow reading her thoughts. But her father 
was gone, and only her grandmother remained 


N 


VICTORIA 


69 


standing ramrod-like by the door, her eye travel- 
ling up and down over the field of the blue-sprigged 
percale with Victoria’s flatiron. 

“ I hones’ly b’lieve ye kin beat me ironin’, Vic ! ” 
exclaimed the pleased old lady. 

The girl’s face changed slightly. A little guilty 
feeling lay deep down in her heart, too deep for 
the plumb line of her grandmother’s suspicions to 
sound, she fervently hoped. The little compliment 
was an immense relief. 

“ It looks nice, don’t it. Gran ? ” she said, 
dropping her lashes slowly, “ an’ it keeps its color. 
Blue ’mos’ always runs into the white, or it fades 
or somethin’.” She gave the old lady a series of 
very violent hugs, kissing her withered cheeks re- 
peatedly, then, taking up the dress, fled quickly 
up the stairs to her own small room. Mrs. Greer, 
as was to be expected, at once resumed her inter- 
rupted dusting. 

Two days had passed since Ray’s marriage ; and 
despite the feeling of loneliness that oppressed her 
at times, a little new hope was singing blithely 
within Victoria Greer’s breast — very faintly, it 
is true, yet singing, and this hope was shining in 
her happy young eyes when she tripped lightly 
down the stairs to the kitchen some half hour later 
in all the crisp, starchy glory of the freshly-ironed 
gown. 

“ Victoria.” 

“ Yes, Granny.” 

“ Ther ain’t no time fer restin’ spells, child. 


70 


VICTORIA 


Them gooseberries is fairly a-droppin’ fum the 
bushes. We mus’ git at thet jam to-morrow.” 

Her granddaughter reached up and took two 
shining tin buckets from the shelf above the kitchen 
table. 

“ I’ll go right this minute an’ pick ’em, Gran,” 
she said. “ If I fill both these pails, it’ll be lots 
fer jam.” 

“ They ought ter be picked over to-night so’s 
to git an airly start to-morrow,” observed the old 
lady with a glance of disapproval at the girl’s 
dress. Victoria met the deep concern in the aged 
eyes with a quiet smile. 

“ I’ll do my best. Granny dear,” she said, add- 
ing naively, “ but I ain’t got only two hands.” 

The Greer kitchen had a place for everything, 
and what is far better, everything was in its place. 
Victoria took her pink sunbonnet from its own par- 
ticular nail, and departed for the gooseberry 
patch. 

Grandmother Greer watched her as she ran 
lightly across the back yard blithely swinging the 
burnished tin pails, her dress brushing the long 
grasses, and her brow cleared. “ It’s Doak,” she 
said to herself. “ I could see she was set on gittin’ 
thet dress ironed.” Then the shadow of a smile 
crept into her faded old eyes. It is well for the 
world that hearts keep young, even when Time has 
laid his cruel, clutching fingers upon wasted, worn- 
out bodies. 

Victoria picked diligently, her quick, nervous 


VICTORIA 


71 


hands snatching eagerly at the luscious red fruit; 
but she nevertheless found time to send many an 
anxious, inquiring glance down the dusty stretch 
of road that led to Galena. And when a dark 
speck in the distance gradually resolved itself into 
a light buggy, a small bay horse, and an erect, 
gray-clad driver with a white straw hat, she sank 
down behind a protecting gooseberry bush and 
rested temporarily from her labors. 

But she was picking berries most industriously 
when the man in gray walked rapidly down the 
little lane between two rows of obtruding bushes, 
and stood hat in hand before her. 

“ How do you do. Miss Greer ” 

Victoria jumped up nearly upsetting a partly- 
filled bucket of fruit and held out a welcoming 
hand. Her face, under the shade of the pink sun- 
bonnet, glowed a faint, clear rose. 

“ Why, Mr. Trent ! ” she exclaimed, not at- 
tempting to withdraw the hand which he held far 
longer than etiquette dictates. “ However did 
you know I was out here? ” 

Trent relinquished her hand with visible reluc- 
tance. ‘‘ Mrs. Greer told me where you were. I 
did not ask permission to follow you. I thought 
I had better take that for granted.” He laughed 
lightly, a laugh which the girl met with an answer- 
ing smile. 

“ Granny’s awful good,” she observed hesitat- 
ingly, “ but she don’t always take to strangers.” 
The last was spoken in an apologetic tone. 


72 


VICTORIA 


‘‘Doesn’t she? Well, she evidently doesn’t 
take to me,” the young man allowed laughingly. 

“ Shall we go up to the house? ” queried Vic- 
toria in an embarrassed way, knowing well her 
grandmother’s feelings toward “ city folks.” 

“Go up to the house? By no means — unless 
you wish it. Miss Greer. Let us sit right down 
here and pick gooseberries, provided Mrs. Greer 
does not summon you. I like to work.” 

Trent dropped lightly down upon the earth and 
held up his hand. “ Room for one more,” he 
called gayly. 

“ But do you like to pick gooseberries ? ” she 
asked wonderingly. 

“ Sure. That is I like to do anything that will 
keep me near you. I never picked gooseberries in 
my life. But that is simply because I never had 
that occupation pointed out to me as a duty. I 
like to work on general principles. Idleness has 
no charms for me.” 

Victoria dropped a handful of berries into the 
bucket and gave him a long look. 

“ I’d like idleness awful well I b’lieve,” she said 
very gravely. 

Trent shook his head. “ You only think you 
would,” he said with conviction. “ But, anyway, 
women are different. The world has no place for 
idle men.” 

“ Well, women may be diff’rent; but I notice ’at 
I’m pickin’ lots more gooseberries right now’n you 
are,” she observed slyly. 


VICTORIA 


73 


Sefton Trent looked up quickly. 

“ Well, that is only because you are not eating 
any. You see I live at a boarding house and 
must make the most of my opportunities. Miss 
Victoria Greer, observe. Some one doth approach 
your door. He holds conversation with your ven- 
erable grandmother. He turns away, and disap- 
pointment doth make dark his brow, while rage 
teareth at his heart.” 

Victoria giggled gleefully. Doak Tibbs was 
marching slowly down the walk toward the gate. 
To tell the truth, the old lady within had directed 
the gloomy-faced young fellow to the garden ; but 
he recognized the light buggy in which Sefton 
Trent drove to and from the zinc works, and had 
no intention of presenting himself where his wel- 
come was a matter of doubt. 

The young man beside the gooseberry bush 
reached over and seized one of Victoria’s hands. 

“ You shook hands ’ith me when you first 
come ! ” the girl exclaimed in much surprise. 

“ I know. But a good action bears repeating, 
and there is no law in the matter.” Trent spoke 
seriously. “ I must not neglect my opportunities 
you know.” 

The girl looked puzzled. Was this handsome 
and clever young city man finding her amusing? 
There was a little resentful glitter in her eyes for 
a moment. 

“ I ’mos’ b’lieve you’re makin’ fun o’ me,” she 
ventured without looking up. 


74 - 


VICTORIA 


“No; indeed, Miss Greer. Nothing was far- 
ther from my thoughts. Perhaps you do not 
know just how long I have been looking for you. 
Let me show you something.” 

He drew from his pocket a tiny leather case 
and held it out to her. Victoria took it wonder- 
in gly, and in another moment was looking at her 
own photograph. 

“ Wherever did you get it, Mr. Trent? ” she de- 
manded breathlessly. 

“ That is my secret,” he assured her with a gay 
laugh. “ I’ve been calling that picture, ‘ My 
Lady ’ for weeks. Now, that I’ve really found 
‘ My Lady ’ herself, she must not believe I am any- 
thing but sincere.” 

He looked straight into the shining hazel-grey 
eyes and read there trust, gratitude — and it is to 
be feared — something else also which the inno- 
cent young creature had not the subtlety to hide. 


CHAPTER VI 


Sefton Trent drove slowly back to town an hour 
later in no doubt as to his own feelings. How- 
ever his fancy may have wavered on his first meet- 
ing with Victoria two days before, he told himself 
now that this was love. And in the eyes that 
strove to meet his own with sweet girlish frank- 
ness, he read a love as strong, as true as his own. 
The knowledge of this mutual love filled his soul 
with a great, oversweeping wave of gladness, of 
thankfulness, of peace. 

Then, alas ! cold Prudence nipped his joy in the 
bud with her chill, persistent questionings. Could 
it be possible to love a woman yet not wish to call 
her wife ? One week ago, Sefton Trent would have 
unhesitatingly answered no to this question; now, 
despite the depth of his sudden passion for the 
little country maiden, he could see that it was quite 
possible. The grim, ignorant old grandmother; 
the honest, yet apparently simple-minded, father; 
the girl’s own lamentable lack of education and cul- 
ture ; the narrowness of her views, her childishness 
— ' all these cried out against what he could but 
look upon as a mesalliance. And over against 
these was the unusual beauty of her face and figure ; 
the unquestioned purity of her woman’s soul; the 
75 


76 VICTORIA 

deep, unchanging love he told himself his own love 
had called to life. 

To leave her now without a word — would it 
not be to break her heart? But did he want to 
leave her? The haunting sweetness of those great 
hazel-grey eyes remained with him as he drove 
slowly home in the peaceful summer twilight. 

The following morning, Trent told himself that 
he was remarkably cool-headed and had no inten- 
tion whatever of marrying Victoria Greer. He 
did not deny that he loved her ; but that was alto- 
gether a different thing from making her his wife. 

“ I shall not go out there again,” he said to him- 
self with determination. “ Glad I didn’t mention 
my visit to old sensible Thorny.” 

But old sensible Thorny, like many other peo- 
ple, knew things without being actually told. For 
one thing, Trent’s reticence was somewhat unusual ; 
nor was his face exactly a mask which hid the work- 
ings of his mind. His observant room-mate had, 
in fact, made a reasonably shrewd guess in regard 
to Trent’s feelings. “ Badly hit,” was his inele- 
gant summing-up of the case. 

Now, the friend who interferes is always to be 
commended for his fidelity rather than for his wis- 
dom, and poor Thornhill was no exception, 

Trent’s restlessness at supper was ridiculous, 
his lack of appetite more ridiculous still; but when 
it came to putting on and taking off four different 
neck-ties in their sleeping-room afterward, Thorn- 
hill could no longer withhold his word of warning. 


VICTORIA 


77 


“ Best go a little slow, Sef,” he said with more 
earnestness than was his wont. “ There is such a 
thing as going to see pretty Victoria Greer too 
often.” 

Now, love has a way of making some men irri- 
table, a fact which the observer of the neck-tie ro- 
tation did not know, being without serious experi- 
ence in affairs of the heart. 

“ There is such a thing, Thornhill, as interfer- 
ing in another person’s affairs, and then there is 
such a thing as minding one’s own business.” 
Trent’s words had the cutting incisiveness of a 
knife blade. 

The red blood surged up in John Thornhill’s 
face for a moment, then receded, leaving it 
strangely white. He got up easily and faced his 
companion. 

“ I am very sorry. I beg your pardon, Trent,” 
he said in a tone cold as ice. Trent nodded care- 
lessly and left the room without a word. 

Thornhill remained standing a few minutes 
listening for the sound of wheels below in the street 
that would announce the departure of Miss Greer’s 
admirer. He then slowly descended the stairs and 
walked into the deserted dining-room, where an un- 
tidy servant was laying the cloth for breakfast. 

“ Where can I see Mrs. Davidson.? ” he inquired 
politely. The girl paused in her occupation and 
looked up. In common with her fellow laborers, 
she liked Thornhill far better than the other men 
who boarded at the house. 


78 


VICTORIA 


“ I’ll call Mis’ Davi’son, sir,” she answered and 
pattered briskly away on her errand. 

‘‘ I hope it will not inconvenience you any, Mrs. 
Davidson ; but I have decided to leave. I will pay 
you to the end of the week, of course.” 

Thornhill did not know that the mistress of the 
boarding house always received announcements of 
the kind as personal affronts. Her firm lips grew 
firmer and her square j aw more square — if pos- 
sible — as she listened. 

“ Don’t my house an’ my table suit you, Mr. 
Thornhill ? ” she snapped. “ I’m sure I try hard 
enough to please, an’ it’s the best the market af- 
fords. But there’s no pleasin’ some folks as I’ve 
found out time an’ time again. What is it that’s 
wrong now ? ” 

“ There is nothing wrong I assure you,” he 
hastened to say, “ nothing wrong with either your 
table or your house. I am leaving for altogether 
different reasons. I much appreciate your kind- 
ness to me.” 

The mildness of Thornhill’s tone might reason- 
ably be expected to mollify the most exacting ter- 
magant on earth, but soft answers never turned 
away Mrs. Davidson’s wrath, and she flounced 
away now leaving him to hunt up the poor, self- 
effaced husband of the lady for a financial settle- 
ment. In another hour, himself and his few be- 
longings were in a small room on the third floor 
of the nearest hotel. 

When Sefton Trent reached the Greer gate, he 


VICTORIA 


79 


found Amos nailing some loosened boards to one 
of the fence posts, whistling a cheerful accompani- 
ment to the irregular strokes of his hammer and 
looking carefree and happy as a boy. Sefton 
hopped lightly out and came up smiling cordially. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Greer.” 

The old man straightened himself slowly, and 
held out his great friendly hand. “ Well, bless 
my soul! Good evenin’ to ye, Mr. Trent. Good 
evenin’. Keeps me everlastin’ly putterin’ ’round 
the place, ye see. Them pesky calves o’ mine have 
a way o’ bustin’ an’ buttin’ their blamed little 
heads plumb through ev’rything. Fine day we’ve 
had.” 

“ Beautiful day,” Trent agreed, his eye on the 
house, and awarding to Mr. Greer’s remarks only 
such attention as politeness required. “ Is Miss 
Victoria at home.f* ” 

The old man shook his head. “ Well, no ; she 
ain’t. I druv out to Ben Hill’s ’ith some stuff o’ 
theirs this momin’ an’ took her along. Nothin’ 
’uld do but she mus’ spend the day ’ith her sister, 
ez I might ha’ known if I had showed the sense of 
a goose. An’ ’tis lonesome here now.” 

The haste with which his daughter’s admirer 
took his leave was not very flattering to Mr. Greer ; 
but a man with two grown young women in his 
family soon learns to be philosophic in trifles of 
the kind. He stood looking after the buggy as 
it whirled rapidly away over the level road be- 
fore him. 


80 


VICTORIA 


“ Queer now that chap didn’t drive back the 
way he come,” the old man thought as he took a 
nail from his mouth and drove it straight into the 
board before him to the very head with one effec- 
tive stroke. 

“ Whut did ye tell Doak Tibbs ? ” his mother 
inquired when he came into the house later on. “ I 
see he druv off.” 

Her son looked his surprise. “ That wa’n’t 
Doak Tibbs, mother,” he said. “ Why, that was 
Mr. Trent.” 

“ Well, why don’t ye tell us whut he come fer.^ ” 
snapped the old lady, her voice sharper than usual. 

“ He asked fer Vic. I tol’ him she wus over to 
Ben Hill’s.” 

The old lady’s back stiffened perceptibly. She 
threw him a withering look. “ Amos Greer ! I 
wonder at ye. I wouldn’t hev none o’ them city 
chaps shinin’ round Victoria ef I had my way. 
But she’s your daughter. Seems ez though you 
wus about old enough to be gittin’ a little discre- 
tion by this time. Like ez not thet young fool’ll 
go straight out to Ben Hill’s. I wouldn’t ha’ tol’ 
him whar she wus.” 

“ Good Lord ! mother. Let the girl have her 
comp’ny. She’s good enough fer any of ’em, I 
say.” 

“ Them city fellers’ll like ez not think she ain’t. 
That’s their way.” 

“ Well, ther ain’t much danger o’ his goin’ out 
to Ben Hill’s, ’specially ez he hain’t an idee wher 


VICTORIA 


81 


the place is at. An’ anyway, Vic’s good enough 
fer the gov’nor or the president either,” asserted 
the father proudly. But the old lady turned 
away with a gesture of considerable impatience. 

“ To my thinkin’, she ain’t likely to git either.” 
Amos, being unable to controvert this statement, 
relapsed into silence. 

On the occasion of her first visit to the' home of 
the supremely happy bride, of course, Victoria must 
be shown everything in and around the unpreten- 
tious little country house, and listen to an all-day 
peroration on the many extraordinary qualities of 
the young husband who it appeared contrived to 
unite all the virtues possible to man under a per- 
sonality that was somewhat commonplace. Be- 
sides, many little finishing touches here and there 
had been left to the clever fingers and artistic eye 
of the younger sister, Ray possessing a realizing 
sense of her own limitations while bowing down 
figuratively before the exceptional taste of Vic- 
toria. 

But it was such a happy day — always except- 
ing a stormy scene at the close. How many times 
in after years, that long summer day with Ray 
was to rise up as a green oasis in Victoria’s mem- 
ory of her girlhood! And if she was unusually 
reserved in speaking of her own affairs, it was 
simply that she could not help it. A sudden shy- 
ness had come to her which passed unnoticed by 
the husband and wife in their own newly-found 
bliss. She mentioned in a casual way that Trent 


8a 


VICTORIA 


had called at the house; that was all, and she en- 
dured her new brother-in-law’s chaffing about Doak 
Tibbs with a meekness that was new in his experi- 
ence. 

There had been no definite promise on Trent’s 
part to repeat his visit when parting from Victoria 
the previous evening. It was, therefore, as great 
a surprise to herself as to Ben and Ray when he 
presented himself at the cottage late in the even- 
ing. He did not take the offered seat upon the 
little porch; but remained standing, hat in hand, 
as he exchanged polite greetings with the three. 

Victoria noted how handsome he was, his boyish 
face flushed from the long drive, his dark eyes 
alert and smiling. The easy grace of his attitude 
as he leaned against one of the round porch col- 
umns was in marked contrast to the somewhat 
awkward bearing of the great stalwart farmer who 
faced him. 

“ I have come to drive you home. Miss Greer, 
if you will be good enough to trust yourself with 
me,” Trent said in the confident tone of the man 
who does not expect “ no ” for an answer. 

The young girl jumped up eagerly and ran in- 
doors, re-appearing in a moment, jauntily swing- 
ing her rough straw hat by its faded brown rib- 
bons. 

“Of course. That’ll be jus’ fine!” she ex- 
claimed, making an animated dash at her sister 
and giving her two explosive kisses. “I’m so 


VICTORIA 


83 


awful glad you thought of cornin’ away out here, 
Mr. Trent.” 

Ben Hill, who had remained standing since the 
appearance of Trent, turned toward her. “ You 
can’t go, Victoria,” he said very quietly. 

The girl stood perfectly still looking as though 
she had not heard aright. Then her slender neck 
stiffened ; she threw a defiant glance at the speaker. 

“ I guess I’ll go fer all you, Ben Hill ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ I’ll let you know that I’ll do just as I 
please. An’ you sha’n’t stop me.” The gently- 
restraining hand which Ray laid upon her shoulder 
was rudely shaken off. 

“ I was not aware, Mr. Hill, that you had any 
authority over Miss Greer,” Trent observed in a 
cool, insolent way that inspired the farmer with an 
instant desire to knock him down, a feat which he 
could have accomplished with ease. 

“ Look here, Mr. Trent,” he said without tak- 
ing any notice of the girl’s anger, “ Victoria Greer 
is my sister. She don’t leave my house at night 
with a man she’s known only three or four days.” 

“ Ah, I see ! I scarcely thought it necessary 
to bring credentials with me, having been intro- 
duced to Miss Greer by her own father. I should 
suppose the lady herself was a competent judge of 
her own actions.” 

The light, sarcastic tone was maddening to Hill ; 
but he had the strong man’s perfect control of 
himself. 


84 


VICTORIA 


“ I mean no reflection on you, Mr. Trent. 
You’re welcome to visit Victoria here. Both my 
wife an’ myself’ll be glad to have you. But she 
takes no drive with you.” 

Sefton Trent’s face grew visibly cold and hard. 
“ That being your decision, Mr. Hill, I will not 
intrude upon your hospitality. I thank you, and 
wish you good evening.” His ceremonious bow in- 
cluded the three inmates of the cottage. 

Victoria, white to the lips, had not moved. She 
was terribly angry. Ray was quietly weeping. 
For a few moments. Hill stood looking indetermi- 
nately from his wife to the girl who was fairly 
trembling with mortification and rage. 

“ Victoria, let ” 

“ Don’t speak to me, Ben Hill ! ” she interrupted. 
“ I won’t listen to you ! I hate you ! Do you 
hear.f^ I hate you! An’ I ain’t a-goin’ to have 
you say what I shall do. So there 1 ” 

“ Well, now, little sis, there ain’t a bit o’ use 
making all that fuss. You have my permission to 
get just as mad as you want to and call me all the 
names you can think of. But if I can help it, you 
ain’t going to be talked about. If you say so. I’ll 
hitch up and drive you right home now myself.” 

There was no mistaking the genuine kindness in 
the man’s great strong voice ; but Victoria Greer’s 
anger was the kind that burns out slowly. She 
consented to spend the night at the house, as had 
been previously arranged, but the host and hostess 
did not find her very agreeable company. 


VICTORIA 


85 


Her parting from Mr. Hill the following morn- 
ing was marked by a certain lofty aloofness on 
Victoria’s part that caused the gentle Ray to shed 
tears. Why couldn’t Victoria see that Ben was 
right Ben knew best, of course. Ben was always 
right. And the depth of her sisterly affection was 
proved by the fact that she had no hard feelings 
toward Victoria. 


CHAPTER VII 


Early one morning the week following his un- 
successful visit to the home of Mr. Ben Hill, Sefton 
Trent, leaving the town behind him, struck off 
across the dew-wet fields at a rapid pace for the 
small wooden shed that served as his temporary 
office. This building stood upon land owned by 
Amos Greer, but was not very near his home. A 
number of men were engaged in erecting other 
wooden buildings; but some time must necessarily 
elapse before these would be ready. 

It was a delightful morning with the coolness 
of the night lingering as yet in the air, and a fresh, 
invigorating breeze blowing from the south. 
Flowers, yellow, orange and scarlet, turned their 
bright faces sunward from their moist emerald 
beds. Robins, larks and bluejays were chirping 
noisily in the bushes along the way. 

To Sefton Trent, the beauty of the summer 
morning appealed strongly. For one thing, 
beauty always appealed to him for its own sake; 
for another, he was somehow reminded of pretty 
Victoria Greer when he looked upon beautiful 
things. In truth, he was always thinking of Vic- 
toria now — thinking of her and wishing for her 
presence. 

And true it is that the Fates are sometimes kind ; 

86 


VICTORIA 


87 


for the wild little sorrel colt almost flying across 
the grassy fields straight toward him carried a 
slight girl with wind-blown brown hair surmounted 
by an old bobbing straw hat and dancing hazel- 
grey eyes that glowed with a strange new tender- 
ness at sight of the pedestrian. 

“ How d’e do, Mr. Trent ” 

This was plainly a concession to “ city manners,” 
the accepted form of greeting among the young 
people being, “ Hello ! ” 

Sefton grasped the offered brown hand warmly. 

‘‘ Why, good morning. Miss Greer. Or may I 
not say Victoria.? It is such a pretty name, and 
you see I always think of you as Victoria.” 

The girl nodded brightly. 

“ I like you to call me Victoria best. I haven’t 

saw you for, let me see, one, two, three yes ; three 

whole days,” she said, counting them off on her thin 
brown fingers. 

“ I know. It has seemed like a year to me. 
Saturday I had business to claim my attention 
until too late to visit, and yesterday I drove past 
the house. The outlook was not what one would 
call encouraging,” he laughed. 

Victoria opened wide her eyes. 

“ I don’t know whatever you do mean, Mr. 
Trent ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ Too many buggies,” laughed Trent blithely. 
“ Looked like a country funeral. Besides I did 
not want to share you with Tibbs and Company. 
I am jealous, you see.” 


88 


VICTORIA 


“ Who says I care fer Doak Tibbs ? ” she in- 
quired with a scornful toss of her defiant little 
head. 

Trent feigned surprise. Why, don’t you ? ” 

“No; I don’t. Doak knows better his own 
self.” 

“ I’m certainly glad to hear you say that. 
How early you are, Victoria. On errands bent, 
are you not.^ ” he asked glancing at the canvas 
bag upon her arm. 

“ I’ve been up hours an’ hours ! ” she exclaimed, 
patting the sorrel’s mane affectionately. “ Bobs 
an’ I are early birds, ain’t we, Bobs.^ I’ve got 
som’thin’ fer ye, Mr. Trent. Here ’tis. An in- 
vite to a party to-night at Lyda Boyd’s. Lyde 
asked me to drop this at the post office; but I’ll 
jus’ give it to you instead. An’ here’s one fer Mr. 
Thornhill. An’ all the girls want ye both to 
come.” 

The young man took the two envelopes she 
handed him; but he did not break the seal of his. 
“ I’ll go gladly, if I may take you,” he said. 

“ Thanks. Of course. I’ll be glad to go ’ith 
ye, Mr. Trent. I’m goin’ out there when I get 
back from town, an’ I’ll tell Lyde you are cornin’. 
There’ll be lots o’ fun. I jus’ love to go to par- 
ties.” 

Sefton smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. No 
doubt the party would be a perfect bore to him. 
But he told himself he was prepared to endure 


VICTORIA 89 

martyrdom when he looked at the picturesque 
young rider of the sorrel colt. 

“ What do they do ? Dance ? ” he inquired, 
putting the two notes into his pocket. 

Victoria’s eyes had strayed to the dark blue 
hills in the distance outlined against a cloudless 
sky of lighter blue. She brought them back to 
the man before her with a wondering stare. 

“ Dancin’s wicked,” she asserted with convic- 
tion. 

Evidently the country girl’s views regarding 
this popular form of amusement were somewhat 
narrow. Trent did not controvert her statement, 
however. 

“ What do they do at these parties ? ” he 
queried very much amused. . 

Well, mostly they play bean bags,” Victoria 
answered with a bright little smile of surprise at 
his ignorance. “ Then they have singin’ an’ 
music, an’ sometimes other games, an’ refresh- 
ments, of course. They have good times. 
Gran’s goin’ to let me have a party some time 
right soon.” 

“Bean bags.? How is bean bags played.? 
You’ll have to enlighten me, I fear.” 

Her small face grew quite serious. “ Well, ye 
see, Mr. Trent, they make a whole lot o’ bags 
out o’ some strong goods like tickin’ an’ fill ’em 
’bout half full ’ith beans an’ stand across the room 
an’ throw ’em at a hole in a board. Of course, 


90 


VICTORIA 


the one that gets the most bags into the hole gets 
the prize. It’s heaps o’ fun.” 

“ It must be an intellectual sort of game,” the 
young man observed dryly ; but the girl shook 
her head. 

“ Intellectual.? That’s the mind, ain’t it? ” she 
demanded in evident surprise. “ La, no ; Mr. 
Trent! ’Tain’t a good mind one wants to play 
bean bags. It’s a good aim an’ a straight fling.” 

He laughed merrily at her earnestness. “ Well, 
let us hope the party will be a stupendous suc- 
cess, Victoria. I will call for you as soon as pos- 
sible after dinner.” 

“ No; supper,” she interrupted quickly. “ You 
mean supper.” 

Trent smiled quietly. “ As you please,” he 
said. “ I am very glad I met you. Good morn- 
ing.” 

“ An’ I’m glad, too,” she called gayly back over 
her shoulder as the wild little sorrel colt broke into 
a gallop. 

Trent stood and watched the fearless young 
thing seemingly as untamed as the sorrel she rode. 
Her wondrous beauty and grace made her seem 
part of the glad summer morning. 

But when Trent resumed his interrupted walk, 
the brightness slowly faded from his face and a 
troubled, worried look rested there instead. Like 
the judge of Whittier’s poem, the young man had 
a mother and a sister. 

John Thornhill made no comment when Trent 


VICTORIA 


91 


handed him Miss Boyd’s invitation to the bean bag 
party. He took the enclosure from the envelope 
and thrust it into his pocket in silence. Then he 
looked up. “ Thank you, Trent,” he said. 

Sefton walked off to his own quarters, wonder- 
ing whether the engineer would avail himself of the 
opportunity to meet with the young people of the 
vicinity. Since the exchange of hostilities be- 
tween the young men at Mrs. Davidson’s, their 
conversation had been limited to business affairs 
and a prodigious increase of politeness marked 
their intercourse. 

Thornhill, however, had no intention of meeting 
Trent socially, and when the manager’s dignified 
back had disappeared, he penned a formal note 
of regret to Miss Boyd. He was not sorry to miss 
the party, finding his few books and a new maga- 
zine vastly more to his taste. 

“ My, ain’t there a lot o’ folks here ! ” Victoria 
exclaimed when the noisy throng of young people 
on the front veranda of the Boyd residence greeted 
them that evening. But it was evident the guests 
had no desire to rub elbows with Miss Greer’s aris- 
tocratic admirer, for by common consent, seem- 
ingly, they made way at once for herself and Trent 
to enter the hall where the daughter of the house 
flamed like a great scarlet poppy in her new party 
frock. 

“ Hello, Victoria ! Lawsy me ! How fashion- 
able and late we’re gettin’ any how. Glad you 
could come, Mr. Trent. I’m sorry Mr. Thornhill 


92 VICTORIA 

isn’t cornin’. I’m just as mad about it as I can 
be.” 

Miss Boyd’s warm smiles did not seem to bear 
out this last statement, however, and as Trent 
knew nothing of Thornhill’s reasons for absence, 
he could offer no manner of excuse, although the 
young lady’s eyes, as they met his, held a visible 
inquiry. 

“ I wouldn’t care if he didn’t come,” ventured 
Victoria. “ The rest of us are glad enough of the 
chance to come, ain’t we, Mr. Trent? ” 

“ I can readily say ‘ yes ’ to that,” answered 
Trent gravely. Miss Boyd was not exactly to 
his taste. He led Victoria away, thus making 
room for Betty Simmons and her escort who en- 
tered the hall just then. Trent was unreasonable 
enough to resent Miss Boyd’s familiarity toward 
Victoria whom she had known all her life. He 
told himself Victoria was “ different.” Yet the 
difference was in her face and in her way of dress- 
ing rather than in her manner and speech ; for Vic- 
toria Greer wore her simple clothes with an air 
that many a high-bred lady would give years of 
her life to acquire. He stole a glance at her pro- 
file as he walked beside her now, and tried to re- 
member where he had met such perfection of fea- 
ture before. 

“ They’re a-goin’ to begin the game now,” she 
informed him when they reached the threshold of 
Miss Boyd’s crowded parlor. “ I wonder if you’ll 
have good luck. You say you ain’t ever played. 


VICTORIA 


93 


There’s a prize. Lyda didn’t tell me so. But 
she’s the greatest one for keepin’ things to her- 
self.” 

A young man in the hall clapped his hands and 
conversation died away to a faint murmur. 
“ Game called ! ” he shouted, and the announce- 
ment was applauded quite liberally. 

The players were obliged to throw the bean bags 
the length of two rooms, and the hole for receiv- 
ing them was quite small. When it came time for 
Trent’s first attempt, it seemed to him the bag 
would necessarily fall short of its destination, so 
little force did he exert. But no ; he let drive 
easily and the beans were landed safely behind the 
board, the first to find lodgment there. 

“My, but that wus jus’ fine!” exclaimed Vic- 
toria, who flung the next one with such force that 
it struck the wall above the board and slid easily 
down on the outside to the floor. With a little 
cry of dismay, she turned to Trent. 

“ I always used to be lucky ’bout throwin’,” she 
explained. “ I hate to bobble things so.” 

The game proceeded, each contestant being al- 
lowed a great number of shots, as they were called, 
the score of each player being faithfully recorded 
by Doak Tibbs and a pretty young girl in pink 
named Claribel. 

Trent could not help wondering what some of 
his friends would think if they saw him flinging 
bean bags with the ease and grace of one who had 
been coached from infancy in the sport. 


94 


VICTORIA 


“ I have found my vocation in life it seems,” he 
whispered to Victoria, pretending not to notice the 
admiration which his prowess called forth from 
the impressionable ladies around him. 

A masculine-looking young woman with mas- 
terly use of her great muscular arms was his most 
powerful adversary. He confidently hoped the 
honors of victory would be hers. But the game 
closed with himself leading by one. The lady of 
the arms had made one wild throw at the last; 
while Sefton had safely landed every bag his 
fingers touched. 

Amid a great deal of merry laughter and con- 
fusion, his poppy-like hostess handed him the 
prize, a huge perfume bottle covered with green 
satin on which three plump, rose-colored cupids 
were sporting. 

Trent’s bow and little speech of thanks were in 
perfect taste; inwardly he was asking himself 
what he was to do with a thing so hideous. He 
could not give it to Victoria. It was too ugly. 
Doubtless she possessed numerous articles as far 
removed from the standards of good taste ; but he 
was not going to add to the possible collection. 
He fervently wished the thing would fall to pieces 
in his hands; but the thrifty Miss Boyd was not 
given to the reckless expenditure of money and 
had not purchased the perfume bottle without con- 
sidering its durability; hence it did not crumble 
away at his desire. 

But sudden inspirations come to people fre- 


VICTORIA 


95 


quently. One came to Trent then. Across the 
room from him stood his gallant adversary, the 
lady of the arms. Her brave eyes and intrepid 
bearing gave no indication of the disappointment 
she must feel. Notwithstanding her manifesta- 
tion of strength and skill in the game just past, 
the gentlemen seemed disposed to stand aloof ; pos- 
sibly because she appeared to be remarkably well 
able to take care of herself. A washed out little 
creature whose wobbly arms had invariably sent 
the bean bags several feet out of the way was talk- 
ing and giggling with much animation to three 
men not a dozen feet away. Trent walked across 
to the solitary lady and presented the trophy with 
his most winning smile, while a little murmur of 
surprise ran through the company at his not be- 
stowing it upon Victoria Greer. 

However, Victoria herself felt no surprise. 
Neither did she covet the satin-covered perfume 
bottle. 

“ I thought the prize wus awful ugly,” she con- 
fided to Trent when they were out on the front 
porch some minutes later. He gave her a grate- 
ful look which she could not read in the darkness. 
“ I’m glad you said that,” he told her. “ It is a 
bond.” But Victoria did not understand. In- 
deed, many of Trent’s queer observations made her 
feel uncomfortable. 

“ Why in the world should ye want me to 
think it wus awful ugly ^ ” she demanded ; but he 
only laughed. 


96 


VICTORIA 


The night was beautiful, and the shaded path- 
way out to the orchard on one side of the house 
lay temptingly before them in the light of a pale 
silver half-moon. Without speaking, they stepped 
off the veranda and strolled slowly away from the 
merrymakers who were discussing the game just 
ended as they trooped out of doors. Victoria 
broke the silence between them. 

“ I guess you think I’m mad ’cause you didn’t 
give me the prize, ’stead o’ givin’ it to Marietta 
Frost. Mebbe you think that’s the reason I said 
’twas ugly. Well, it isn’t.” 

Trent stared at the girl in astonishment. Some- 
thing in her tone warned him not to laugh. To 
humor her, he would treat the affair with the seri- 
ousness so weighty a matter demanded. 

“Marietta Frost. So that is her name, is it? 
You see I had not the honor of an introduction. 
But my dear Victoria, it never entered my head to 
think you cared. Nothing was farther from my 
thoughts. I can read you better than that.” 

“ Sometimes — sometimes — ” She hesitated 
and looked down. Her voice was very low. 

“ Sometimes what? ” he asked, flattered by the 
little exhibition of confusion. His voice gave her 
courage. 

“ Well, then, sometimes you say things ’at I 
don’t understand. When I don’t know what you 
mean, I can’t help thinkin’ you’re makin’ fun o’ 
me.” 

They were alone in the shaded walk. The 


VICTORIA 


97 


moonlight drifting through the overarching 
boughs lay full upon the girl’s face, sweet, pure 
and pale as some shrinking April blossom. He 
could not see, but could fancy the cloud in her 
troubled, questioning eyes. 

“ So that is what my dear, foolish little girl has 
been thinking. And she must never think that 
again.” 

Trent could not have told how it happened ; but 
his arms were holding the girl close and he was 
kissing her lovely young face, not once, but many, 
many times. 

For a long minute, Victoria lay breathless, un- 
resisting in his arms. Then a look of terror al- 
most crept into her great startled eyes. The next 
moment she had slipped from his embrace and was 
fleeing like a winged creature up the pathway to 
the house, leaving him to stare after her, beset by 
doubts and not knowing in the least what to do. 
Was it anger Was it coquetry.?^ Or was it just 
maidenly shyness that impelled the girl to sudden 
flight.? Whatever feeling had actuated Victoria, 
Trent was in no doubt about his own. He felt 
like a fool. 

Then, too, it was most probable that he had 
been seen to leave the house with the girl. What 
would they say when they saw her rushing in 
alone as though pursued by a host of furies? 
What must they think of him? An hour ago he 
would have sworn he was sublimely indifferent to 
the opinions of these people in regard to him- 


98 


VICTORIA 


self ; now he was obliged to own that he had no 
very great desire to pose as the object of their 
ridicule. But as he walked slowly up the path- 
way that Victoria’s flying feet had touched but a 
few minutes before, he told himself that one word 
with the girl was all he wanted. He felt sure of 
her love. Had not her wondrous eyes confessed 
that love ever since their first meeting Half way 
to the house, he heard the piano send forth the 
opening bars of a popular melody. “ She’s play- 
ing chords,” he thought, and quickened his steps. 

But the lady at the piano was Miss Marietta 
Frost, who played with the same strength and 
surety that characterized her handling of the bean 
bags. Trent walked easily through the rooms, 
exchanging pleasant words with the few people 
he knew, and successfully keeping all questions out 
of his eyes. 

But Victoria was not to be seen. 

No one appeared to take much notice of Trent, 
the music engrossing the attention of most of the 
company. He carelessly inquired of two or three 
of the girls whether they had seen Miss Greer. 
But they had not. 

The singing grew louder and louder. A young 
lady bearing a waiter laden with cakes and ice 
cream touched his arm. “ Mr. Trent.” 

It was Betty Simmons. 

He helped himself mechanically from the of- 
fered tray, at once passing the little plate of 


VICTORIA 99 

cream to a lady near by. “ Where is Miss 
Greer.? ” he inquired. 

Miss Betty Simmons looked a little blank for 
a moment ; then she spoke almost in a whisper : 

“ Why, Victoria went home a long time ago, 
Mr* Trent. I thought perhaps you knew. She 
told me to tell Lyde good-bye fer her.” 

“ Went home.? ” he queried in a perplexed way. 
“ How did she go .? ” 

Miss Simmons could not repress a little mis- 
chievous smile. 

“ I heard her askin’ Doak Tibbs if he’d drive 
her home. Of course, he said he would. La! she 
can stamp on Doak Tibbs all she’s a mind to. 
Doak come by his lone self, you know. Victoria 
never does things like other folks, Mr. Trent.” 

He thanked her; hunted up his hostess without 
further delay and drove back to town with only 
his own confused thoughts for companions. He 
was angry with himself ; angry with Victoria : and 
most of all, angry with the fortunate — and no 
doubt triumphant — Doak Tibbs. 

The little town was hushed in midnight quiet 
when Sefton Trent gave his horse in charge to the 
heavy-eyed young fellow at the livery bam, and 
turned his steps toward Mrs. Davidson’s. His 
way led past the hotel where he knew John Thorn- 
hill lay sleeping the deep, childlike sleep from 
which nothing short of an earthquake could rouse 
him. 


100 


VICTORIA 


It came to Trent as he walked that the soft sum- 
mer night had brought its peace, its holy calm to 
every inhabitant of the place save himself, and the 
thought was not without its bitterness. Why 
should he alone be restless, unhappy? 

Sleep was long in visiting him that night. For 
hours he lay awake, thinking, thinking. Sup- 
pose he should marry this beautiful but woefully 
ignorant country girl? Would he not be mad 
thus to throw away all his hopes, all the cherished 
ambitions of his life? There could be but one 
answer to that question, and yet ^ — to what was 
this great, overmastering love of his to lead? For 
it was useless to try to deceive himself longer. If 
he had been in any doubt about his feelings toward 
Victoria Greer before, such doubt no longer ex- 
isted. That moment when she lay still and breath- 
less in his arms decided him. He laughed in scorn 
at his fancied love for Laura Forest. Friend- 
ship, admiration — call it by any name but love. 
For that, plainly it was not. 

Morning brought a clearer outlook to the young 
man. Things viewed dispassionately in the cold, 
commonplace light of day have a way of looking 
wholly different somehow. No doubt the ideal 
marriage was based on love, and it was eminently 
proper that it should be. But many people 
traveled through life quite happily — or at any 
rate, resignedly — who began their journey to- 
gether with no sentiment more highly-colored than 
mutual esteem and community of interests. It 


VICTORIA 


101 


was the wealthy man only who could afford to 
follow his inclinations after the fashion of the 
old-time romance and marry for love. Sensible 
men nowadays, for the most part, chose their 
wives from the families in their own particular so- 
cial set. Indeed, he could mention several of his 
friends who had not been averse to marrying for- 
tunes for their better advancement in life. Had 
not his own poverty and utter lack of future 
“ prospects ” kept him from asking the hand of 
Laura Forest months ago.? And even if she were 
penniless, any man might be proud to call her 
wife. 

This course of reasoning by the very force of 
contrast brought up the many limitations of poor 
little Victoria. He thought with a feeling akin 
to horror of the sensation she would make among 
many of his friends whose opinions he valued 
highly. It seemed scarcely possible to love a 
woman well enough to be wholly indifferent to the 
effect she produced upon others. Would not one 
be always conscious of the knowing glances, the 
meaning smiles, the thinly-veiled ridicule of 
friends ? Certainly it would be the height of folly 
to marry a girl destitute of education, of refine- 
ment, who must of necessity offend one’s tastes in 
a thousand nameless ways. 

But now that he had a position which offered 
possibilities, at least, in the way of advancement, 
he would try to win the hand of Laura Forest. 
Yes ; he would win. How glad he was that he did 


10 ^ 


VICTORIA 


not stand committed — in words at least — to 
poor little Victoria Greer. Moreover, did not the 
fact that she had chosen to leave the party under 
the escort of another give him a good excuse for 
letting the whole affair drop? Certainly. He 
had been a fool, of coui^se. But it was fortunate 
for him that it had ended as it had. 

But while thus communing with himself, Victor- 
ia’s white, frightened face with its great, anguish- 
lit, reproachful, surprised eyes turned upon his 
own in the moonlight kept continually coming be- 
fore him. All that morning he could not rid him- 
self of those hurt, proud eyes. A faithful animal 
at whose heart he had just dealt the death thrust 
might have looked at him thus. 

By noon he had decided to grant forgiveness 
to her; for without doubt she would apologise 
when she reviewed her conduct from the cold dis- 
tance of hours and days. 

But night brought a further change in his feel- 
ings. He was somewhat surprised to find that it 
was himself that was in an apologetic frame of 
mind. He had acted like a brute, he told himself. 
He had forgotten what was due every lady from 
every man who called himself a gentleman. But 
when he had sued humbly for pardon, there must 
be no return to anything at all approaching senti- 
mental relations between them. Naturally there 
was no reason why they should remain enemies like 
a pair of sulky school children. 

When he knocked at the farmhouse door that 


VICTORIA 


103 


evening, it was opened by Mrs. Greer, looking 
more formidable than formerly he fancied. Vic- 
toria was not at home. She had gone to spend 
the night with one of her girl friends — the un- 
communicative old lady was careful not to men- 
tion which one. 

Trent turned from the door feeling sure that 
the girl left home to avoid seeing him, in which 
surmise he was entirely correct. 

Several days passed in which all his attempts to 
see Victoria proved unsuccessful. Trent came to 
the conclusion that the pursuit of the most finished 
and capricious society coquette was a simple mat- 
ter in comparison to an affair with an unsophisti- 
cated little country maiden. 

But if this little innocent Victoria had fallen 
heir to the accumulated wisdom of whole genera- 
tions of coquettes, she could not have schemed to 
better advantage where this one love was con- 
cerned. For Sefton Trent’s love throve by oppo- 
sition. He had some thought of writing; but with 
one whose every act appeared the result of impulse, 
the plan was not without its difficulties. He was 
prepared to eat humble pie in the presence of the 
girl herself ; but had no desire to have his letter 
fall under the eye of Ben Hill, for instance. 

Business at the zinc works called for two more 
men, and he drove out one evening to a little Swed- 
ish settlement where he had no difficulty in procur- 
ing them. It was on his return at a rather late 
hour that he came upon Victoria herself walking 


104 


VICTORIA 


at a rapid pace along an unfrequented road not 
far from her own home. He stopped as he came 
up. 

‘‘ Victoria.” 

The girl stood still a moment, completely taken 
by surprise, then looked uneasily around as though 
meditating instant escape. But Trent was out of 
the buggy, and there seemed nothing to do but 
remain. She was visibly embarrassed. 

“ I’m on an errand for Gran. I’m takin’ some 
things down to ol’ Mis’ Burkett. The poor thing’s 
been sick a long time,” she stammered, taking no 
notice of Trent’s offered hand. ‘‘ I mustn’t wait. 
I didn’t know as you ever come this way.” 

He noticed she was very pale, but her head was 
flung haughtily upward, and her whole attitude 
was uncompromising, not to say distinctly hostile. 

“ I have wanted to see you so much, Victoria. 
I — ” began the young man ; but she interrupted 
him sharply. 

“ An’ I don’t want to see you, Mr. Trent. An’ 
you needn’t come to see me no more. Gran says 
men don’t have respect fer girls when they kiss ’em. 
She says they never marry ’em.” 

This was something he had not counted upon. 
“ Did you tell your grandmother.^ ” he demanded. 

“ Of course, I didn’t tell her ’bout you,” she re- 
turned stiffly. “ I’d be ashamed. It’s what she 
always says though. I b’lieve her. An’ I feel 
it’s so myself.” 

Trent breathed more freely. 


VICTORIA 105 

dear girl, I have much to say to you. Let 
me drive you to the sick lady’s. Come.” 

Two hours afterward, Victoria and Trent 
walked into the presence of Mr. Greer and his 
mother. The girl turned a radiant face toward 
them. 

“ We’re married,” she said. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Sefton Trent laid down his magazine. 

When a woman is very young and very pretty, 
and only four months married, it is to be expected 
that she will be a little exacting in the demands 
made upon her husband’s time and attention. 
Victoria, lightly perched upon an arm of his chair, 
her warm young hand resting caressingly on his 
shoulder, and her small, slippered foot swinging 
impatiently forward and back above the sprawling 
ferns in the faded Brussels rug, was infinitely pre- 
ferable to the most learned discourse on the 
“ Trend of Modern Thought,” so he willingly 
closed the pages, shutting away the unfinished 
article, and smiled into the bright young face so 
near his own. 

Trent’s marriage had made little change in his 
manner of living. He moved from the small back 
room which he had shared with Thornhill before 
their quarrel into Mrs. Davidson’s “ best ” front 
room, an exchange which meant chiefly battered 
mahogany instead of battered oak, and three feet 
of painted pine floor which formed a slippery bor- 
der all around the rug whose glory Time had long 
since stolen, but which still kept its place in defer- 
106 


VICTORIA 


107 


ence to its former splendor. Its commonplace in- 
grain sister of the small back room covered the en- 
tire floor. 

There had been trips to the neighboring towns 
undertaken for the purpose of purchasing suitable 
clothes for the bride — how Victoria’s soul de- 
lighted in these expeditions — but in much less 
than a month, Mr. and Mrs. Sefton Trent might 
be numbered among those who are “ Married and 
settled,” if so restless a young thing as Victoria 
could be called settled — for settled at any rate 
she did not appear. 

But she was looking wonderfully beautiful; and 
Sefton made no attempt to hide the admiration 
which shone in his eyes whenever they rested upon 
her. However, her husband’s smile just now did 
not lift the little perpendicular line that had found 
a temporary resting place between the dark, per- 
fect-arching brows. 

“ Who is Matthew Arnold, Sefton ” 

Trent looked his surprise. “ Who is Matthew 
Arnold.?” he repeated slowly. “Why do you 
ask that.? ” 

“ ’Cause Mrs. Fordham an’ Mrs. Melton were 
talking to-day, an’ they asked me if I knew any- 
thin’ ’bout him. I told ’em I never heard him spoke 
of ; that I guess he didn’t live in this town ; that 
the only Arnold here was ol’ man Cy Arnold who 
kep’ a livery stable, an’ he had only one child, his 
daughter, Eliza. Why, is anythin’ the matter.? ” 

Sefton Trent’s face had grown suddenly dark. 


108 


VICTORIA 


Victoria started back, half frightened. “ Oughtn’t 
I to ha’ said that.? ” she faltered. 

But he did not answer her question. 

“ What did Mrs. Fordham and Mrs. Melton 
say.? ” he asked without looking up. 

The yellow lights flamed up in the wide, hazel- 
grey eyes. ‘‘ They laughed an’ laughed,” she said 
indignantly. “ I thought they’d never let up. 
That’s the reason I asked you. Do you know 
him, Sefton.? Who is he?” 

The cloud did not pass from her husband’s face. 
But when he spoke, it was in his usual tone. 
“ Matthew Arnold, my dear, is a writer, an Eng- 
lish writer. Doubtless they were talking about his 
books ? ” 

“ Does one have to know all the folks that write 
books .? ” demanded his wife in surprise. 

“ Educated people are expected to know the 
leading writers,” he answered rather gloomily. 
“ You must read more.” 

Her face brightened. “ I have jus’ finished a 
perfectly splendid book,” she announced proudly, 
“ ‘ The Mystery of the Stolen Diamond.’ It turns 
out jus’ right.” 

But Trent did not manifest any interest in the 
“ Stolen Diamond.” He stared at her in a dumb, 
helpless way, the pathos of which was wholly lost 
upon the unconscious yong girl. Some wild ideas 
of beginning his wife’s education hurtled through 
his brain, without, however, finding lodgment there. 


VICTORIA 


109 


For where was he to begin? How was it possible 
to cope with such ignorance? And in what way — 

“ Mrs. Fordham lent me a book to-day,” Victoria 
broke in on his train of thought. “ I guess it mus’ 
be somethin’ ’bout sickness. ‘ The Ordeal of 
Fevers,’ or somethin’ like that. I’ll get it.” She 
slipped off the arm of the chair and walked toward 
the battered mahogany dresser. 

Trent’s gloomy eyes followed her. “ ‘ The Or- 
deal of Richard Feveral ? ’ ” he suggested. 

His wife gave a quick glance at the volume in 
her hand. “ That’s it. However did you know? ” 

“ I read it a long time ago. It is a very fine 
book,” he said, looking straight before him, and not 
lifting his eyes to Victoria’s face. I hope you 
will read it.” 

She stood still a moment, staring at the dull 
gilt letters on the book’s cover. “ Is it? I started 
it,” she said slowly, laying it back in its former 
place on the dresser, “ but I couldn’t see what it 
meant. I think it’s a poky ol’ thing. But I’ll go 
at it again,” she added with something like a sigh. 

Victoria did not return to her uncomfortable 
perch on the arm of her husband’s chair, but stood 
erect and slim in the center of the room, her head 
thrown well back and her throat gleaming smooth 
and white above her pale fawn-colored frock. 

“ I hate them women ! ” she burst forth angrily. 
“ I hate an’ despise ’em both. An’ I won’t stand 
it! I won’t! They jus’ ask me things I don’t 


no 


VICTORIA 


know an’ then laugh. An’ I’m jus’ as good as 
they are any day. An’ I know I have nicer 
clothes.” 

But Trent caught one of the thin little brown 
hands and drew her down on his knee, soothing her 
as he would a child that had given way to a sud- 
den fit of temper. 

“ There, there, pet. You and I have each other. 
We do not have to care what they say. We love 
each other, little wife. That is enough, isn’t it.?^ ” 

“ They say you don’t take me to St. Louis or 
Kansas City, only to the small towns,” she said with 
a little break in her voice, although she was mani- 
festly striving to appear calm. “ An’ you know I 
think whatever you do is all right. An’ you’re aw- 
ful good to me, Sefton. ’Tisn’t that. It’s them 
sayin’ it that I mind.” 

Trent forced himself to smile. “ But you must 
not mind, dear,” he said very gently. “ I cannot 
have you unhappy about things like those. Some- 
time when I have more money, we will have our own 
home, you and I. But we will have to wait. And 
now, — well, we just must not care.” 

But even as he spoke, Sefton Trent knew that he 
himself did care. To tell the truth, he had ob- 
served the sly glances of amusement which the 
sayings of his wife sometimes provoked. He was 
conscious that she was often the subject of re- 
mark when both himself and Victoria were absent. 
He told himself that a man’s love for his wife should 
be so strong and deep that he would care not at 


VICTORIA 


111 


all for such trifles. Yet he was forced to admit 
that these same small annoyances were gall and 
wormwood to his proud spirit, much as the admis- 
sion shamed him. 

Then, too, he noticed that his fellow boarders 
frequently talked down to his wife. No doubt this 
was from the very kindest of motives. Naturally, 
no offense could be taken where none was meant. 
That the necessity for such kindness existed. — ^ He 
stared into his wife’s face with eyes that were 
angry and troubled. 

“ I don’t like you when you look that way, Sef- 
ton ! ” she exclaimed with a pretty little pout. He 
smiled, or tried to ; but the effort was not success- 
ful. However, the face so near his own grew won- 
derfully sweet and bright. 

“ Granny’s frowns all run away when I kiss ’em,” 
she explained laughingly. ‘‘ Let’s see if yours 
will.” 

But Sefton remained silent. He was consider- 
ing the problem of moving. There were other 
boarding houses, of course. The one hotel was 
out of the question for the reason that John Thorn- 
hill stayed there. With his present salary, house- 
keeping could not be thought of. Suppose they 
moved to another boarding house, would not the 
same or similar annoyances occur? What — ? 

“ Well, did I ever? An ol,’ ol’ letter. Written 
more’n four months ago. Why, that wus ’fore we 
wus married. An’ you been carryin’ it roun’ in 
yer pocket all this time.” 


112 


VICTORIA 


Victoria’s voice broke in upon his meditations, 
accompanied by her clear, ringing laugh. “ How 
funny! It is signed ‘Laura Forest,’ an’ she’s 
‘ your sincere friend.’ Well ! ” 

Victoria was sitting on her husband’s knee now. 
She sat up very straight and read the short note 
again slowly and carefully. Then she drew a long 
breath. “ Sefton.” 

“ What is it, dear ? ” he asked very gently, think- 
ing how well she carried her dark graceful head. 

“ Well, what I want to know is — is — Sefton, 
what’s the reason you didn’t marry Laura Forest.^^ ” 
The words were almost hurled at him. 

Trent gave a start of surprise. “ Why didn’t 
I marry Laura Forest ? ” 

“Yes; why didn’t you, Sefton? Wouldn’t she 
have you ? ” 

“ I never asked her,” he said simply. 

“ But you liked her? ” persisted his wife. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, you don’t love her, so it’s all right I 
guess,” she said in a satisfied way, adding pres- 
ently, “ Isn’t her writing funny ? Such queer, 
pointed letters, an’ long, squirmy tails to ’em.” 

“ Miss Forest writes a beautiful hand,” her hus- 
band assured her, without, however, looking at the 
letter. He needed no glance to recall the char- 
acters which his wife designated as “ funny.” 

“ Oh I ” Victoria’s voice expressed distinct sur- 
prise, and he caught an undertone of disquietude. 


VICTORIA 113 

disapproval. “ I suppose you’d like me to write 
like that.” 

‘‘ Indeed, I would.” 

Poor Sefton sighed. There were so many things 
he would have her do just as Laura Forest did. 
For true it is that a man may love his wife, yet not 
he able to indorse her spelling. 

“ You don’t write to her any more, do you, 
Sefton ? ” she questioned presently, her voice low 
and troubled. 

“ Not since I married you,” he returned cheer- 
fully. 

“ Did you write an’ tell her you wus married? ” 

“ How many more questions do I have to an- 
swer? ” he queried with a light laugh, not betraying 
the impatience he was feeling. He did not wish to 
talk of Laura Forest at all. But evidently the 
girl on his knee — like poor King Duncan — had 
“No art to find the mind’s construction in the 
face,” for her next question was hut a repetition 
of the former one. “ But did you write an’ tell 
her? ” 

“ No ; I did not.” 

“ But why didn’t you, Sefton ? ” his wife per- 
sisted. “ Won’t she think it kin’ o’ queer fer you 
not to tell her? ” 

“ I intended sending her the paper with the 
notice. But the silly write-up contained so much 
gush. Since then I have not written. It does 
not make any difference.” 


114 * 


VICTORIA 


Trent took up his discarded magazine again. 
What was the use of talking about a matter that 
was not worth mentioning? 

But Victoria was not altogether satisfied. Why 
was it he was in no' apparent haste to inform his 
friends of his marriage? He had a mother and a 
sister. She could not help wondering whether he 
had told them. True, she could have asked him. 
But pride forbade. If he wished to delay the an- 
nouncement of their marriage, he need not hurry 
on her account. This she told herself ; but the tell- 
ing was not without pain. And her husband ac- 
tually admired that queer-looking handwriting of 
Miss Forest’s. This thought brought with it an- 
other little sharp stab. 

Victoria Trent often found the days very long 
ones at Mrs. Davidson’s. She fairly longed to 
keep their one room in order ; but her husband was 
horrified at the mere mention of her doing work 
which came clearly within the province of the maid. 
She tried embroidery; but was far too impatient 
for such painstaking employment. Dressing each 
afternoon was a pure delight ; but the most careful 
toilet did not consume much time, and it seemed as 
though she spent hours and hours each day look- 
ing forward to her husband’s return. She drove 
frequently after leaving Trent at his office, and the 
days when poor Granny did not see her for a few 
minutes at least were rare. 

But the morning following the finding of Laura 
Forest’s little note, Victoria Trent found a new oc- 


VICTORIA 


115 


cupation. “ The Ordeal of Richard Feveral ” 
proving no more interesting than on former occa- 
sions, she threw it forcibly face downward after the 
perusal of some half dozen pages, and set about 
carrying out a little plan that had suggested itself 
to her busy brain during the previous night. 

She was going to write just like Miss Laura 
Forest. It was, of course, quite funny that Sefton 
should like writing when most of the letters had 
long curling tails. But such being the fact, she 
was going to write that way too. 

So she spent most of the morning seated at the 
bare little mahogany table laboriously trailing a 
heavy pen across sheet after sheet of paper like a 
boy struggling with his first “ pot hooks.” 

But it was tiresome work for one so active, and 
she could not see that her morning’s work gave evi- 
dence of any improvement. Once loud girl voices 
floated up to her from the street — those of Lyda 
Boyd and Betty Simmons she knew. They had 
raised their voices on purpose while passing Mrs. 
Davidson’s in the hope of drawing her from her re- 
treat. But Victoria kept resolutely on, bending 
lower and lower over the “ pot hooks.” Sefton 
did not approve of her young women friends. 
Their manners were “ too pronounced,” he had 
said — whatever that might mean — and they 
laughed far more than good taste allowed, so the 
young wife did not seek their society as she would 
have done had she followed her own inclinations. 
“ When one is married, it is different,” she ex- 


116 


VICTORIA 


plained to herself. But she missed the companion- 
ship of her two jolly, rollicking friends far more 
than she would admit. 

But having set herself the task of mastering a 
particular style of handwriting, Victoria practised 
faithfully for a time. Morning after morning 
found her at her appointed task ; yet it was always 
with a sigh that she destroyed the products of her 
labor. For she could not feel encouraged. Vic- 
toria wished most fervently that Laura Forest had 
never learned to write. In truth, there was grow- 
ing up within the girl’s heart a strong feeling of 
antagonism toward the city-bred girl who must be 
a veritable paragon to judge by Sefton, who did 
not even wish to talk about her. 

But help in the matter of the writing came to 
Victoria suddenly and in a wholly unexpected man- 
ner. 

On mornings when she drove, it was her custom 
to call at the office of the Sunflower Mining Com- 
pany at noon for Trent, and it was while waiting 
for him on one occasion that she decided to im- 
prove the time practising. The big desk was such 
a nice place for writing. Miss Forest’s note was 
tucked away in one compartment of her pocket- 
book, so taking this well-worn piece of scented 
paper from its hiding place for a guide, she started 
going over for the nth time the well-remembered 
words, her face approaching nearer and nearer to 
the desk as she wrote. 

“ Good morning, Mrs. Trent.” 


VICTORIA 


in 


Victoria started guiltily. But she did not make 
any attempt at concealment as she would have done 
if discovered by her husband. She jumped up now 
and held out a hot little hand. “ I’m waitin’ fer 
my husband, Mr. Thornhill,” she explained with a 
little embarrassed laugh. 

“ And playing secretary I see,” he said, his 
pleasant, smiling eyes looking full into her own. 

The girl held up a page of pitiful, cramped-look- 
ing characters. To her surprise, all her embar- 
rassment fled in the presence of this strong-looking, 
clear-eyed man of whom her husband seldom spoke. 

“ I’m tryin’ to write nice. I don’t get along 
very fast. It’s hard,” she said. 

Thornhill did not laugh as Trent would have 
done. Instead, he took the paper and looked it 
over with apparent interest. 

‘‘ I think I can help you, Mrs. Trent,” he said 
with much earnestness. “ Here. You hold your 
pen too tight. Let me show you. Do not take 
any ink at first. Just move the forearm very 
lightly holding the pen as loosely as you can. 
What you need is freer arm movement. ” 

After a few trials, she gave him a grateful look. 

“ Sefton always laughs at me,” she said in an 
embarrassed way. “You don’t.” She threw up 
her head with a pretty little gesture of defiance. 
“ I wish I knew whole lots,” she said with a smile. 
“ Sefton does, an’ I guess you do.” Then she tore 
the paper all scribbled over with letters which were 
supposed to look like Laura Forest’s fashionable 


118 


VICTORIA 


chirography into tiny pieces, crushed them in her 
hand, and tossed the crumpled wads into the waste 
basket. 

“ You won’t tell Sefton? ” she questioned ear- 
nestly, while a faint flush crept into her pale face. 

Then it was Thornhill’s turn to smile. It was so 
long since he had had any conversation with the 
lady’s husband except what was exacted by the re- 
quirements of business that the query sounded odd 
indeed. 

“ Tell what ? Oh 1 about your trying to im- 
prove your writing? Certainly not. Why 
shouldn’t you, why shouldn’t anyone try to im- 
prove? ” 

He was not thinking of her handwriting, how- 
ever, as he spoke, but of her abundant brown hair 
and the exquisite texture of her very white skin. 
It was easy to forgive a man as fastidious as Trent 
even for losing his head where so pretty a woman 
was concerned. 

Victoria walked to the door and stood there look- 
ing up and down the street for Trent, her young 
face aglow with expectancy. “ How like a child 
she looks,” thought Thornhill. “ So young and 
untamed.” Then he thought of a saying of his 
grandfather’s : “ A gentle hand for a skittish 

horse,” and wondered to himself if her surrender 
had been a wise one. 

“ You never do come to see us, Mr. Thornhill.” 
She turned in the doorway and faced him. “ I 


VICTORIA 119 

hones’ly b’lieve you’re mad about somethin’. I 
jus’ do.” 

But the engineer laughed lightly. “ You must 
not be too hard on me,” he said. “ A forlorn 
bachelor feels his condition most keenly when called 
upon to witness the blissful happiness of a newly- 
married pair. He is out of it, you see.” 

Victoria made no reply, for Trent came in just 
then and Thornhill certainly was ‘‘ out of it,” for 
in another moment the newly-married pair were 
driving away together with no thought for the man 
who stood looking after them with something of 
sadness in his gaze. When the light buggy was 
lost beyond a new wooden building which was rap- 
idly nearing completion, he went over to the desk 
and picked up two fragments of Victoria’s practise 
sheets. “ Already she is beginning to feel her defi- 
ciencies. How will it all turn out.^ ” he asked him- 
self. Then he smoothed out the pieces of paper 
and examined the pitiful attempt to copy Laura 
Forest’s elegant handwriting. As Victoria had 
said, Trent might have seen something amusing 
in the whole affair. Not so himself. “ That little 
girl is alone. I wish I could help her,” he said with 
a sigh. 


CHAPTER IX 


Thornhill did not call upon Mr. and Mrs. Sefton 
Trent, notwithstanding Victoria’s evident surprise 
at his not doing so. The fact that she expected 
him to visit them was an immense relief. He told 
himself no one could be sure just how far a mar- 
ried man might enlighten his wife where his men 
friends were concerned, and it was plain to him 
now that Trent had not told of his criticisms of the 
marriage. Victoria was far too elemental to hide 
the resentment she would naturally feel. On first 
meeting the manager after his very hasty mar- 
riage, Thornhill had offered his best wishes with 
as much cordiality as he could summon, and for his 
pains, had been thanked with scrupulous polite- 
ness. He would have been only too glad to estab- 
lish friendly relations between them ; but no invita- 
tion to visit them had as yet been extended by 
Trent himself. 

And Thornhill, who was charitable toward all, 
readily found excuses for Trent. Naturally, any 
man would resent the things he had said about 
Victoria. In Trent’s place, he was very sure he 
would. 

But he saw Mrs. Trent often. She came to the 
office nearly every day; was looking, if anything, 
120 


VICTORIA 


121 


prettier than when he had first seen her and was as 
much in love with her husband, apparently, as it 
was possible to be. 

And Victoria was really happy, notwithstanding 
the small annoyances that beset her path. For did 
not Sefton love her.?^ And secure in the possession 
of his love, she strove to be indifferent to the little 
mean speeches of Mrs. Melton and Mrs. Fordham. 
In fact, a coolness had arisen between these worthy 
ladies, and the girl had now to hear the opinion 
each cherished of the other — which opinions, by 
the way, if conveyed to headquarters, were not ex- 
actly calculated to heal the breach between them. 

“ I’m going out to see Lyde this mornin’,” Vic- 
toria told herself after a half-hour’s struggle with 
the formidable h’s, g’s and p’s that simply would 
not take on the form and semblance of those in Miss 
Forest’s troublesome letter. For much as she loved 
her husband, the young wife could not rid herself 
of her affection for these two best friends of her 
girlhood, Lyda Boyd and Betty Simmons. Be- 
sides, did she not have a pretty new jacket, a mod- 
ish affair from St. Louis, quite unlike anything her 
country-bred friends had ever seen.^ And what 
was the use of having pretty new garments unless 
the eyes of one’s friends could be dazzled by them 
on occasion ? Victoria wished to look her best, and 
her hair “ stood out every way for Sunday,” to use 
her own words, and had to be done up three times 
before its fastidious owner was suited. 

Before she was quite dressed there came a knock 


122 


VICTORIA 


at the door, and in response to Victoria’s ‘‘ Come 
in,” there entered a lady well supplied with colored 
embroidery silks and an American Beauty centre- 
piece. Mrs. Fordham had “ run in ” to spend a 
social hour. 

“ Not going out I hope, Mrs. Trent,” she ob- 
served cheerfully, drawing a chair in front of the 
door and seating herself without invitation. In 
order to leave the room, it would be necessary to 
jump over the lady’s tall, pompadoured head or 
forcibly push her aside, and as Victoria was not 
minded to try either method, she simply fastened 
her linen collar, clasped her slim waist with a tan 
leather belt and sat down. 

“ What you makin’ ? ” she asked, surveying the 
brilliant reds and greens in her visitor’s lap. 
“ Somethin’ pretty? ” 

“ Well, I hope it will be pretty when it is finished. 
I am going to send it to a cousin. She has so 
many beautiful things I never know what to make 
for her. I think that one Mrs. Melton is making 
is perfectly hideous. She doesn’t know the first 
thing about shading the tips. I never in my life 
saw any one with less taste. I thought yesterday 
she looked positively sloppy. What in the world 
she means by wearing green with that muddy com- 
plexion of hers I don’t know. My breakfast didn’t 
agree with me this morning. I do not see how any 
of us can put up with the fare here much longer. 
Why is it that Mrs. Davidson can’t have some va- 
riety? It may suit some people though. You 


VICTORIA 


1^3 


know I don’t think Mrs. Melton was ever used to 
much. If she was, she certainly doesn’t show it. 
Yesterday, I heard her saying to — ” Mrs. Ford- 
ham stopped abruptly. 

“ Yes ; ma’am. He’ll be back at twelve sure. 
It’s after ’leven now. The front room to the right, 
ma’am.” 

The loud voice of Mrs. Davidson’s house girl 
floated up the stairs. It is to be hoped little of its 
power was lost in transit. 

In another moment, the handle of Victoria’s door 
was turned very softly, and a small lady all in soft, 
harmonious browns stepped lightly in. 

“ I beg your pardon. The maid must have di- 
rected me to the wrong room. I am looking for 
Mr. Sefton Trent.” This with a swift glance of 
inquiry from one lady to the other, and the least 
possible inclination of the small brown head. 

Both Victoria and Mrs. Fordham had jumped to 
their feet at her entrance. Now, before either 
could speak, she added in a cool, self-possessed 
way : “ I am Mr. Trent’s sister.” 

Mr. Trent’s sister ! Here was news worth carry- 
ing indeed. Mrs. Fordham retreated in all haste, 
leaving poor little Victoria to receive this new rela- 
tive as best she might. 

But summon all the strength she could, Sefton 
Trent’s wife found not a word to say. She stood 
with face aflame, silent and awkward, before this 
woman whom she regarded instinctively as her 
enemy. 


124 


VICTORIA 


A little slow smile crept into the face of the 
lady standing near the door. “ Will you be kind 
enough to tell me whether Mr. Trent boards at this 
house ” she asked rather sharply. 

Something in the tone roused all the latent an- 
tagonism in Victoria. She had once informed her 
father that she was not going to be be “ downed by 
any of Sefton’s stuck-up kin-folks.” The sudden 
color faded from her cheek, leaving her pale as some 
fresh white flower. She flung up her head, then 
lowered her gaze and met the visitor’s indifferent 
blue eye unflinchingly. 

“ Mr. Trent boards right here. This is his 
room. I am his wife. Sefton an’ I wus married 
’mos’ six months ago. Didn’t you know.'’ ” 

‘‘Wife.'’ Wife.? You Sefton Trent’s wife.? 
My brother is not married.? ” 

She walked toward Victoria in a dazed way. 

“ There is some mistake. You cannot mean that 
surely. My brother would have told us.” 

She leaned against the small table, seemingly for 
support, as she spoke. There was something very 
like horror in her face. 

“ My brother could not treat us that way. He 
could not. My mother ! Why, it would kill her ! ” 

She appeared to be speaking more to herself than 
to Victoria. Then in a tone of evident relief she 
added: “You are too young to be married. 
Much too young.” 

Victoria gave a little shrill laugh. 

“ Oh, we’re married all right ! This here’s my 


VICTORIA 


125 


weddin’ ring. I guess you think I’m not good 
enough fer yer brother. Well, I’d have ye know 
I think I’m jus’ as good as he is. An’ I think I’m 
as good as you are too.” 

But this childish outburst did not “ crush ” the 
visitor at all. Victoria’s angry eyes with their 
dancing yellow lights encountered a stare of blank 
amazement in which there was not the faintest sus- 
picion of anger. The lady in brown had herself 
under perfect control. She was a small woman, 
seemingly a little under thirty, with a haughty way 
of carrying herself and a cold, proud face. Her 
lips were hard and set ; her voice like ice itself. 

“ My brother married you ? ” she said, and the 
emphasis on the you was most expressive. “ Why 
did not Sefton tell us.^^ Is the marriage a secret.? 
And how did he come to marry you.? ” she de- 
manded in smooth, even tones. To poor Victoria 
every intonation breathed insolence. 

“ Sefton an’ me aren’t keepin’ it a secret that 
we’re married,” she returned indignantly. “ He 
married me because he loved me. Oh, I haven’t 
anythin’ ! Sefton didn’t marry me fer my 
money ! ” The girl’s voice grew quite shrill. She 
ended with a little scornful laugh. 

The woman near the table continued to stare. 
“ Sefton Trent married you for your pretty face,” 
was what she was thinking, but she only said very 
quietly : “You cannot expect my mother and my- 
self to recognize you, you know. My brother is 
poor. You will not gain anything.” 


1^6 


VICTORIA 


And all this time the little yellow lights were 
dancing in the younger woman’s big angry eyes. 
But the visitor heeded not these danger signals at 
all. 

“I — I simply cannot understand. Tell me 
something about yourself,” she continued, “ your 
family — your name — ” 

Victoria was silent for a time. She was trying 
hard to keep down the fierce anger that threatened 
to overpower her. In truth, the little country 
girl had not been taught to curb her spirit in all 
the years she could remember. Her father had 
generally been amused by the exhibition of what 
he termed her “ fits.” 

“ My name was Victoria Greer,” she said pres- 
ently. There’s jus’ two of us, my sister an’ me. 
She’s married too, an’ lives in the country. 
There’s only father an’ Granny to home now. I 
guess — I guess you think — But I didn’t marry 
my husband fer money.” This she said with real 
dignity, and the hazel-grey eyes were softer now. 
“ An’ I don’t care ’tall what you an’ yer mother 
do. You can set down now an’ wait fer Sefton by 
yerself. I’ll leave.” 

But Sefton’s sister did not wish to wait. 

“ I will not ask you to leave your own room,” 
she said slowly. “ I have but an hour or two to 
spare and will return to the hotel.” She moved 
gracefully to the door as she spoke, and with a 
slight bow passed into the hall, surprising Mrs. 
Fordham who was evidently listening without. 


VICTORIA 


127 


Victoria started forward. “ What’ll I tell Sef- 
ton fer ye? ” she called in a half-frightened way. 

The answer came back in a cool, even tone : 

“ Tell him nothing.” 

Left alone, the young wife flung herself upon the 
bed and broke into wild sobbing. Fierce anger 
gripped her spirit with strong, overmastering 
clutch. What right had her husband’s sister to 
hurl all those insults at her.f* What did she ask 
of her husband’s family.? She told herself noth- 
ing. She loved Sefton alone. Why had this 
woman come.? Why could she not remain at home 
with her old crank of a husband.? For this was the 
rich Mrs. Abercrombie, Elizabeth Trent, Sefton’s 
only sister who had married a wealthy widower of 
sixty or thereabouts instead of foolishly throwing 
herself away on some poor, romantic youngster of 
five and twenty. 

The entrance of Sefton himself did not serve to 
make Victoria calmer. “ Yer sister’s been here! 
She has! Yer sister! She said you hadn’t tol’ 
her you was married ! ” she burst forth as soon as 
he entered the room. “ She — I — I — ” The 
words were drowned in a fresh burst of sobs. 

Trent stood looking at her a moment, frowning 
darkly. Through her tear-dimmed eyes she saw 
that he looked much like his sister. And she 
could almost have hated him at that moment. 

“ Elizabeth Abercrombie.? What in God’s 
name brought her here.? ” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Where 
is she.? What have you done with her.? Sit up 


128 


VICTORIA 


like a sensible person and tell me where she is. 
Why are you crying? ” 

The sharpness of her husband’s voice naturally 
had the effect of increasing the hatred she felt 
toward the Trent family. At that moment she 
included the young man standing there so like his 
sister she felt she could never love him again. 
Springing from the bed, she faced him, her whole 
frame quivering, trembling, and her eyes fairly 
alight. 

“ I hate her ! I could kill her ! Kill her, if 
she is your sister ! An’ I won’t be insulted by yer 
family! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!” The 
words were fairly hurled at him. 

Trent’s lip curled, then grew hard. But at 
sight of his wife’s blazing eyes, his voice softened. 

“ Pshaw ! Elizabeth’s not so bad. I wouldn’t 
go into such heroics over her, if I were you,” he 
said. ‘‘ She’ll like you well enough when she 
knows you.” 

Yet while saying this, he knew full well that 
his sister had a tongue which could give sharp 
stabs and that she was not at all averse to using 
the weapon Nature had given her. He could fancy 
just what mean little things she doubtless had 
said to his wife. But in Victoria’s present state 
of mind, she would not listen to an angel, he told 
himself. As well try to still a Kansas cyclone. 

“Oh, I know jus’ how she feels!” Victoria 
stormed again. “ She feels better’n other folks. 
She thinks I’m not fit fer her to wipe her shoes 


VICTORIA 


129 


on. I knew what she wus thinkin’ all the time. 
I can tell. I won’t ever see her again. An’ I 
don’t ever want to see yer mother either or any 
o’ yer folks. I hate her I tell ye ! I — Sefton. 
Sef — ” 

Victoria’s voice died away in a pleading little 
sob. She flung two hot young arms around his 
neck and clung to him in an agony of fear and 
grief. 

“ Well, don’t let every one in the house hear 
you,” he cautioned, striving for calmness him- 
self, for this visit of his sister’s disturbed him not 
a little. 

“ Oh, Sefton, you’re not go in’ to find her? 
Don’t go, Sefton. I love you so ! I do love you ! 
You won’t love me! I’m afraid you won’t! I 
care fer you. I do. I do, Sefton.” 

And he held her close while he kissed her many, 
many times and tried to soothe her. But at 
length he put her gently from him. 

“ Love you, dear? You know I love you. But 
now I must leave you and find my sister.” 

Leave her? Leave her? He was going to his 
sister, to his sister she hated. The thought 
stabbed like some cruel knife-thrust. Too hurt 
to speak, she turned from him in silence. 

Without looking at her, he left the room hast- 
ily, closing the door behind him. 


CHAPTER X 


To Mrs. Abercrombie’s philosophic mind any 
outward expression of the fierce tumult that 
raged within would have been entirely useless, and 
what was eminently more to be dreaded, vulgar. 
That her brother’s marriage was a crushing blow 
she made no attempt to deny to herself. But as 
yet she had not decided what her course before the 
world was to be — the world in this instance stand- 
ing for the few hundred chosen ones worthy of 
place all unquestioned upon the Abercrombie 
“ list.” 

But during that short walk back to the hotel 
where she was compelled to pass the time some- 
how until the departure of the early afternoon 
train to the East, she told herself one thing. She 
was not going to have an interview with her 
brother. She was not going to see him, even if 
he sought her out, which he would in all probabil- 
ity do. However, there was no reason why her 
particular train should not be on time and there 
was barely one hour to wait. 

She needed no dinner; could not eat it if it 
were set down before her, and she gave a little 
sniff* of disgust at the menu which that sort of 
hotel offered its guests day after day. The town 
130 


VICTORIA 


131 


was a horrid little hole. No doubt Mr. Aber- 
crombie would have called it “ beastly,” the same 
standing in his mind for a multitude of sins. She 
herself found the place utterly detestable. So 
she flicked a few grains of the town’s dust off the 
hem of her brown robe as she sat down in the one 
rocking-chair the small room contained to wait 
with what patience she could summon until the 
train bore her away forever — yes ; forever, that 
was what it would be; for the Abercrombies were 
on the way to California for an indefinite stay. 

Mr. Abercrombie had views on health and 
longevity, and are not the rush and general dis- 
comfort of travel popularly supposed to be con- 
ducive to both.?^ So the luxurious Eastern home 
was left in charge of trusted servants and Mr. 
Lowell Abercrombie with Master Trent Aber- 
crombie, a pampered and altogether disagreeable 
individual of four, and a much-tried nurse were 
waiting in Kansas City for the return of the wife 
and mother whose little journey into Kansas had 
ended so disastrously, and whose arrival would 
send the little party westward again for the bene- 
fit of Mr. Abercrombie’s health. 

That her brother, a Trent, should so far for- 
get what was due to the family name — the 
thought was intolerable to Elizabeth Abercrombie. 
While in the presence of the enraged young wife, 
she had somehow failed to be impressed by the 
girlish beauty of Victoria’s face and lithe, slim 
figure. Now, oddly enough, in the dreary hotel. 


13a 


VICTORIA 


the beautiful flashing eyes with their golden gleams 
came between her and the commonplace objects 
that made up the furniture of the small, stuflpy 
room. 

But the only effect of Victoria’s remembered 
beauty was to aggravate the sense of injury, of 
disgrace, that the humiliated lady experienced. 

What would herself and her mother do about 
the marriage ? What could they do P There 
were families in which the most dreadful things 
happened, of course. But what did people do? 
What — ? 

“ Dey VOS von shentlemans to veesit mit a 
lady.” The fat, good-natured waiting-maid who 
made this announcement entered without permis- 
sion. Sefton Trent knew his sister’s ways far 
too well to' wait for an invitation that might not 
be forthcoming. He followed close upon the heels 
of the maid, and when Elizabeth Abercrombie 
stood up, she was face to face with the brother who 
was in her thoughts. 

To the mind of the rosy-cheeked young waiting- 
maid, the quest of any lady under forty by a per- 
son of the opposite sex could mean but one thing. 
Of course, he was a beau. So with a smile that 
bespoke complete comprehension of how matters 
stood, she shuffled precipitately from the room, 
closing the door. 

Sefton was by no means at ease, although he 
was making a strenuous effort to appear so. His 
sister who was not at all deceived by his assumed 


VICTORIA 136 

indifference was to all appearance as calm as a 
frozen lake. 

“ What do you intend to do about this absurd 
secret marriage of yours ? ” she demanded before 
he had time to speak. 

Trent, who had had some rather vague intention 
of kissing her, was immediately on the defensive. 

“ My marriage is not a secret,” he said slowly, 
his lips tightening perceptibly. “ Neither do I 
see anything absurd in marrying a respectable 
young girl who happens to be poor, but who — ” 

“ Not to say ignorant,” interrupted his sister 
quietly. 

He had never been a match for the sharp- 
tongued Elizabeth. He was not now. 

“ And if it is not a secret, why was I not told.^ ” 
she demanded scornfully. “ Why was not mother 
told ? That girl said you were married six months 
ago.” 

That girl! That was the way his wife was to 
be spoken of then. But with an effort, he con- 
trolled himself. 

“ I intended to tell you,” he said quietly. 

There was no particular hurry.” 

“ No particular hurry I should think not in- 
deed,” snapped his sister. “ Your news would 
keep, Sefton. What do you propose to do about 
mother.^ You cannot possibly expect her to wel- 
come as a daughter a woman of no family who 
cannot even use her mother tongue properly. 
Why, it is preposterous ! Preposterous ! ” 


134 


VICTORIA 


Mrs. Abercrombie sat down. Trent did not 
follow her example. 

“ Remember you are talking of my wife,” he 
said with more heat than he had yet shown. 

“ I’m not likely to forget it,” she said with a 
little bitter laugh. Then her voice sank. “ I am 
talking sense. You know just as well as I do, 
Sefton, that she is perfectly impossible — impossi- 
ble I tell you, judged by mother’s standards — ” 

“ And by yours,” he interrupted bitterly. 

‘‘ Yes ; by mine,” she agreed quickly, then added 
after a moment’s pause, “ and by yours also.” 

The hot blood rushed to Trent’s face. “ A 
man has a right to choose his own wife without in- 
terference,” he said. “ I suppose you will grant 
that, if you did marry an old fellow of sixty with 
no end of cash.” 

His sister bestowed upon him a haughty stare. 

‘‘ At least, I gave my family nothing to be 
ashamed of,” she observed calmly. “ You cer- 
tainly cannot expect either mother or myself to 
ever receive your wife. However, with your ideas 
of independence, that may be no great grief to 
you. I am older than you are, Sefton. I know 
more of poor mother’s struggles with poverty than 
you do. She was proud. She made sacrifices. 
She sold her home that you and I might be edu- 
cated. She would not let her children drop to a 
lower circle than that in which they were born. 
She lived in dingy boarding-houses, and went 
without things. I cannot bear to think of her 


VICTORIA 


135 


life. It hurts me. It maddens me. Poor 
mother ! ” 

She stopped quite suddenly; but he did not 
break the silence. When his sister spoke again, 
he noted the little break in her voice. He stood 
and watched her in gloomy silence. 

“ And through it all, she was so proud, so 
brave. Why, to me, there is something grand 
about it. She had hopes of you. Such hopes ! ” 

“ But a man marries to ” 

“ To suit himself.'^ Yes,” she interrupted. 
“ But he owes it to himself to marry a woman who 
is his equal, not one who will drag him down. 
You may just as well face the truth first as last. 
Look around you, Sefton. Look at the men you 
know. Can a man raise a woman? Does he ever 
do so ? ” 

She faced him, her blue eyes hard and glitter- 
ing, her voice even and smooth. But he remem- 
bered the little break in her voice when she spoke 
of their mother, and the remembrance was a stab. 

Now, when he entered the room, he knew he 
was no match for his sister in verbal warfare. He 
was defenceless. It was not so much what Eliza- 
beth said as her manner of saying it. The fact 
that he had to acknowledge to himself that she 
was right did not in the least dull the keen edge of 
his sister’s word-thrusts. 

He left her in anger. Whatever object he had 
had in view when he first came into her presence 
— and he was not exactly clear as to what it was 


136 


VICTORIA 


— he certainly had accomplished nothing. He 
felt that he had suffered defeat. Why, he had 
not even made it clear that any blame that at- 
tached to his hasty marriage was all his own. 
Doubtless his sister blamed poor little innocent 
Victoria. 

He told himself he had acted like a veritable 
cad. Naturally, the telling did not make him more 
comfortable. 

Outside on the steps of the hotel, a glance at 
his watch informed him that the dinner hour at 
Mrs. Davidson’s was past. No doubt Victoria 
had gone down to the dining-room alone. So he 
ate a hurried dinner at the hotel and went off to 
his office without seeing his wife. 

Victoria stood perfectly still, staring rather 
blankly at the closed door after Trent had left 
her. She was terribly angry. Sefton, her hus- 
band, had gone to his sister, to the sister who had 
spumed, insulted her. How she hated everything 
about tbe woman, the smooth, well-modulated 
voice; the cold, high-bred face; the air of aloof- 
ness that was by no means a pose. Try as she 
would, Victoria could not convince herself that 
this new relative of hers lacked any of the hall- 
marks of caste. Mrs. Abercrombie was a per- 
sonality to be reckoned with. The girl could not 
have defined it even to herself, yet here were birth, 
breeding, the prestige that character, culture and 
genuine worth bestow. In some subtle way, it was 
borne in upon her that the little pretentious airs. 


VICTORIA 


137 


the striving for effect of Mrs, Fordham and Mrs. 
Melton were as far removed from the innate re- 
finement of Mrs. Abercrombie as is the imitation 
stone from the pure, sparkling diamond. 

However, this consciousness of her sister-in- 
law’s superiority had the effect of raising her anger 
to a white heat. For she could not but feel her 
own inferiority and entire helplessness in the pres- 
ence of this finished product of the world’s culture 
and advancement. 

Victoria wanted no dinner, of course. Neither 
did she mean to endure the suffocating atmosphere 
of her one small room. She desired space, mo- 
tion, the freedom of the wintry world out of doors. 

Her horse, still hitched to the light buggy, 
awaited the pleasure of his capricious young mis- 
tress, so there was no reason why she should re- 
main indoors. Besides, she was not going to be 
at home when Sefton returned. He should learn 
that she could please herself on occasion as well 
as he could. And Victoria Trent held her pretty 
head very high as she resolutely set her face in 
the direction of the Greer farm. She wanted 
Granny. In reality, the poor, troubled child 
needed a mother; but Granny was the only mother 
she had ever known. So to Granny she went. 

Old lady Greer did not go through the formality 
of dressing after the substantial noonday dinner 
unless guests were expected. Neither did she ap- 
prove of putting off until to-morrow tasks which 
were conducive to the proper running of her house 


138 


VICTORIA 


to-day. Manifestly, she was not looking forward 
to invasions of a social nature, and her cupboard 
was in the condition, presumably, of old Mother 
Hubbard’s famous receptacle, for Victoria Trent 
found her grandmother standing at the newly- 
scoured kitchen table cutting out thin golden tea- 
cakes with the cover of a baking power can. 

“ "Well, Granny, here I be.” 

“Well, draw up a chair, child. Are you cold.? 
The day’s fine though. An’ I’ve a hot fire. Best 
sit by the window,” the old lady said, not returning 
the kiss Victoria pressed upon her seamed cheek. 

Mrs. Greer’s affection did not manifest itself 
in caresses and terms of endearment. But her 
strong, severe face underwent a slight change. It 
became softer, kindlier, and the semblance of a 
smile crept into her piercing dark eyes. 

Victoria removed her hat and placed it on the 
back of a convenient chair, securing it by two long 
hatpins jabbed between the wooden rungs of the 
chair. Then she turned slowly around and drew 
two caressing hands down the lapels of the new 
j acket. 

“ See, Granny. Ain’t I fixed up fine .? How 
d’ye like my coat.? You mustn’t say jacket. Gran. 
Coat’s the word.” 

“ Well, don’t ye get silly, child,” remonstrated 
Mrs. Greer, pausing in her occupation long 
enough to view the stylish new coat that must on 
no account be called a jacket. “ Seems to me 
coat’s a’mos’ too much like a man. An’ I don’t 


VICTORIA 


1S9 


like any mix-up o’ men an’ women. But it’s nice, 
an’ it fits ye, too. But don’t let them town folks 
turn yer head.” 

For Victoria’s judicious grandmother frequently 
quoted what is set down in the Scriptures about 
beauty and vanity, much to the amusement of the 
young girl. Now she hugged the old lady heart- 
ily and disclaimed all cause for vanity. 

“ You’re vain yerself. Gran,” she said, jump- 
ing up and kissing the withered cheek again. 

“ Vain.f* Me.^” Mrs. Greer turned away with 
a sniff of disgust. 

“ Yes ; vain,” repeated her granddaughter with 
a twinkle in the clear hazel-grey eyes. “ Ye know 
ye’ve got the straightest back in the hull county. 
Gran. Course ye do. An’ yer eyes are awful 
bright, too, fer ’most a hundred.” 

“ I’m only eighty-one,” the old lady who was 
being complimented asserted with lofty indigna- 
tion. 

“ Well, yer eyes’ll be bright when ye are a hun- 
dred,” persisted Victoria. 

“ Don’t let folks spoil ye, child,” cautioned her 
grandmother. 

The girl laid the new coat on the chair which 
held the hat, gave it a little pat of approval and 
went back to the table. Then she sat down, rested 
her two elbows on the white oil cloth which was 
used to protect the scoured pine surface from in- 
jury by heated cooking utensils, and leaned for- 
ward. 


140 


VICTORIA 


‘‘ Gran.” 

“ Yes ; child.” 

“ Granny, ye ought to get a cooky cutter. 
Since pop’s begun gettin’ all that money fer the 
zinc, ye ought jus’ to have things all over the hull 
house to make yer work easier. A cooky cutter 
’at punches a hole in the middle’s the kind. Gran.” 

Mrs. Greer brought the first pan from the oven. 
They were just the proper shade of brown. 

“ Yer pa ain’t got much yet out o’ all that new- 
fangled zinc machinery,” she remarked dryly, set- 
ting a plate piled high with the fragrant teacakes 
in front of Victoria. 

“ He’p yerself. I dunno ez they’re ez good ez 
I kin make though. I mistrust they ain’t.” 

It was Mrs. Greer’s habit to disparage her 
cooking, present achievements invariably being in- 
ferior to past. This, of course, her granddaughter 
understood. 

‘‘ My, Granny, they’re fine ! The best ye ever 
made in yer life ! ” she exclaimed, filling her mouth 
like a hungry schoolboy. And Victoria was 
hungry. It is easy for youth to persuade itself 
that mental anguish has driven away all desire for 
food, but it is extremely difficult to repress the 
cravings of a healthy young appetite that has a 
way of waking up suddenly when opportunity to 
gratify it knocks at the door. 

“ Nobody can beat you makin’ nice things to 
eat. Granny,” Victoria observed, helping herself 


VICTORIA 


141 


to another teacake. Then she sent a glance of 
inquiry toward the kitchen window. 

“ Wher’s pop .? ” 

“ Pshaw ! Ye might ha’ guessed where he’d be,” 
returned the old lady with lofty scorn. “ He’s 
druv ofF to' them everlastin’ zinc works. Seems ez 
though he wus gittin’ plumb crazy ’ith all that 
zinc foolishness in his head.” 

“ But, Granny,” protested her granddaughter, 
“ don’t ye know he’s goin’ to get a share o’ the 
hull thing.? Output, they call it.” 

“ Well, ther ain’t much o’ it showin’ up yet. 
That’s all I say,” returned Mrs. Greer with a 
vicious jab of the baking powder can cover. 

“ But ye see they haven’t been workin’ long yet,” 
the girl assured her. “Ye see it took a lot o’ time 
to get all the machinery fixed up.” 

They talked of various things about the house 
and farm, the girl asking numerous questions, and 
paying small attention to the answers. The little 
hill of crisp, sugary teacakes swelled into a moun- 
tain of sweetness, while without, the great ball of 
gold in the gray blue sky rolled westward until a 
stray beam danced in at the window and rested 
lovingly on the girl’s dark brown hair. Impa- 
tiently she moved her chair a little farther from 
the table and lifted a pair of troubled young eyes 
to the stern old face opposite. 

“ Granny.” 

Now, the elder woman was not surprised in the 


142 


VICTORIA 


least by the sudden change in Victoria’s voice. 
The restless manner ; the set lips ; the traces of re- 
cent tears ; were all witnesses that something far 
deeper than the small annoyances of life had hap- 
pened to disturb the girl. It was not easy to de- 
ceive the sharp eyes of old lady Greer. Whatever 
of tenderness her somewhat harsh nature pos- 
sessed had been bestowed upon this best-loved 
grandchild. She looked up now; but her face 
alone asked a question, for she said nothing. The 
glance of her eye was kindly. It gave Victoria 
courage to go on. 

“ Granny, Sefton’s sister come to town to-day. 
She come out to the boarding house before he got 
home. I jus’ hate her I” 

“Ye mustn’t say ye hate folks, Vic,” remon- 
strated her grandmother gently. “ That’s a 
wicked thing to say.” 

“ I s’pose I might keep fum sayin’ it ; but what 
’ud be the good.? I’d feel it jus’ the same,” said 
the girl. “ It’s the feelin’ that harms.” 

“ But what we feel is sort o’ firmed-in when we 
keep on sayin’ it,” observed the old lady slowly, 
“ an’ if we keep on sayin’ a thing over an’ over, I 
guess we’d end by b’lievin’ it ’fore we knew it.” 

Victoria turned her proud little head upward 
and met Mrs. Greer’s steady dark eyes. The yel- 
low lights in her own were all agleam. 

“ Mrs. Abercrombie — that’s her name — thinks 
I’m not good enough for her brother ! ” she burst 


VICTORIA 


143 


forth angrily. “ She does. She toP me so. 
They’re not goin’ to have anythin’ to do ’ith me. 
His mother ain’t neither. She says her brother 
disgraced ’em. Disgraced, Granny. Disgraced 
because he married me ! ” 

Poor Granny! Like her fiery young grand- 
daughter, she had plenty of spirit — spunk she 
called it — but many years had passed over her 
head, and these years had taught her self-control, 
and the futility of combating established prece- 
dents with one weak pair of hands. Moreover, in 
her secret heart, she was not surprised either by 
Victoria’s violent outburst of anger or its cause. 
From the first, she had looked forward to the meet- 
ing of the Trents and her granddaughter with 
dread. Yet she could, in some measure, consider 
the marriage from their point of view. The “ I 
told you so ” of a smaller mind found no place in 
her thoughts. But knowing the sensitive nature 
of the young girl, she feared the effect of such vio- 
lent emotions upon her. She knew well the magni- 
tude of the storm through which the trembling 
young wife was passing, and stifling all indigna- 
tion, she summoned what indifference she could to 
her aid. 

“ Husband’s folks, child. La I so long es he’s 
all right hisself, what do ye care.?^ Some folks ’ud 
mek a row if their sons married angels.” 

“ But ye don’t know how she looked. Granny. 
It wus as though I wasn’t a human bein’ at all. 


144 


VICTORIA 


An’ she walked so grand. An’ — Oh, Granny, 
somehow, she’s jus’ difF’rent! I can’t tell ye. 
But she made me feel difF’rent.” 

Victoria laid her head down upon the kitchen 
table and sobbed, not violently, but quite softly, 
her bosom rising and falling and all her slim young 
body quivering. 

“ Well, cheer up, Vic. Suppose she is different. 
Ye didn’t marry her. Ye married only Sefton,” 
observed her grandmother judicially. 

The brown head was quickly raised, though the 
girl’s tears continued to fall. “ Sefton went off 
to the hotel to see her. I told him not to. I 
wanted him to stay ’ith me. But he went. I 
won’t stand it! He’s got to care mos’ fer me, 
an — ” 

“ An’ so he does,” interrupted her grandmother 
quickly. “ So Sefton does. It wus long since he 
seen his sister mos’ likely. An’ she wus in a 
strange place.” 

“ I don’t care,” persisted the irate girl, mopping 
her eyes savagely. “ I’m not a-goin’ to have him 
runnin’ off ’ith his folks. I’ll jus’ let him know 
once fer all I ain’t goin’ to stand it. They think 
I don’t know nothin’. Sefton laughs an’ laughs 
at me ’cause I don’t know things. An’ I don’t 
care how much they know ’bout books an’— an’ 
things o’ that kind, I don’t see as they have such 
good manners goin’ round crushin’ other folks ’ith 
their very looks — ” 

“ Husbands is mostly a little queer,” interrupted 


VICTORIA 


145 


her grandmother in a conciliatory tone. “ ’Tain’t 
ez though Sefton wus ’sponsible fer all his folks 
say neither. It’s mos’ time fer ye to be goin’ after 
him now, if yer goin’ ’fore supper.” 

Victoria glanced indifferently at the big ugly 
face of the kitchen clock on its high shelf behind 
the stove. The clock was peaceful enough look- 
ing, yet the glance was a particularly savage one. 

“ I ain’t goin’ a step fer him this day,” she as- 
serted stoutly. “ He can go home by his own 
self. Serve him right.” 

Mrs. Greer looked off through the window at 
the mauve and amethyst clouds filling all the west 
with their mellow radiance. But she did not see 
the glorious, ever-changing tints of the cloud- 
mountains, or the golden shafts of light between. 
She was back, far back, in a past that was fast 
growing dim, dim with the dimness of many silent 
years, so far back that the passionate girl she had 
once been was fighting over again the hard little 
battles of a starved, repressed, misunderstood 
childhood and youth. 

But wisdom had come with the years. She 
turned from the window and began mechanically 
washing the few cooking utensils that had been 
used in the manufacture of the teacakes. 

“ Well, now, perhaps ye’re right, Victoria. 
Mebbe yer husband ’ud like the change o’ goin’ 
home by hisself ’thout you botherin’ to go after 
him. Ye never kin tell ’bout men. Sometimes 
the less they have o’ ye, the more store they set 


146 


VICTORIA 


by ye. I’ve heard folks say so. You stay right 
on to supper. Yer pa’ll be mighty glad to have 
ye hack. An’ I’m goin’ to have a right good sup- 
per. Hot muffins an’ blackberry jam,” she added 
in her most persuasive tone. 

But hot muffins and blackberry jam, tempting 
though they sounded in combination, failed to im- 
press Victoria Trent. She jumped up quickly and 
began rubbing her cheeks vigorously with her 
handkerchief. 

Her husband like the change of going home 
without her! 

Now, this was certainly a new thought and a 
very horrible one. And perhaps she had been a 
little hard on him. After all, he could not help 
what his sister said. Of course, he could not. 
The ugly old clock told her that she had just time 
to reach the office by driving in to the town rap- 
idly. She grabbed her hat, pinning it to place as 
well as she could without the aid of a mirror, 
jerked herself into the new coat, her fingers so 
nervous that the old lady fastened the buttons 
deftly herself, not breaking the silence, and not 
relaxing a muscle of her severe face while the hur- 
ried preparations for departure were in progress. 

“ I mus’ go. I didn’t know ’twus so late. 
Good-bye, Granny dear.” 

She gave the old lady a hearty hug and two 
farewell kisses, and was out of the room like a 
flash. Another moment, and the sound of retreat- 
ing wheels came from the roadway without. 


VICTORIA 


14^7 


The old lady walked slowly to the door of the 
kitchen, opened it and watched as the horse sped 
rapidly across the bare brown slope toward the 
town. Suddenly her face changed. A heavy mist 
came between her and the dark object she was 
watching. ‘‘ Poor child,” she sighed sadly to her- 
self. “ Poor, poor child ! ” 

When she returned to the kitchen, her first act 
was to remove her spectacles and rub them briskly 
with one comer of her checked gingham apron. 
Then she set about the making of the muffins. 
She would have to hurry. It was growing late. 

Back along the familiar country road, Victoria 
drove, her face brightening more and more as the 
little town and the husband whose love was to her 
the sweetest thing that had ever come into her life 
drew nearer and nearer. 

Arrived at the entrance to the Sunflower Zinc 
Works, her heart gave a sudden, joyful leap. 
Trent was in the doorway of his office talking with 
a man whom she had not seen before. Evidently 
their conversation was of a serious nature; but 
at sight of his bright-faced young wife, Trent 
walked quickly forward to the buggy. The 
stranger he introduced as Mr. Corey of Kansas 
City, and the three talked of indiff’erent matters 
for some minutes before the husband and wife 
drove oflP. 

Victoria directed a sharp glance toward her 
husband’s handsome profile as he took the lines 
and turned the horse in the direction of the Da- 


14?8 


VICTORIA 


vidson home. She fancied he looked worried and 
anxious. Possibly he was only tired. She laid a 
timid, caressing hand on his arm. 

“ Sefton.” 

He had been looking straight before him without 
speaking ; but he turned at the sound of her voice 
and smiled into her warm hazel-grey eyes with all 
his old boyish frankness. And with that smile, 
Victoria forgot that such disagreeable things as 
haughty sisters and cold-hearted mothers existed. 
Her husband loved her. Nothing else mattered. 

“My! You look awful tired, Sefton,” she ex- 
claimed. “ Are you sick ? ” 

“ Sick-f^ No; indeed,” he returned laughingly. 
“ But I am tired.” He paused, adding presently : 
“ Thornhill has sent in his resignation. We have 
a new engineer coming to-morrow.” 

Victoria gave a start of surprise. “ What.?^ 
What’s Mr. Thornhill leavin’ fer.? ” she inquired. 
“ Don’t he like it here.?^ ” 

“ He gave no reason.” 

Victoria said nothing. She wondered if Thorn- 
hill would come to bid her good-bye. He had been 
so kind to her. She so much wanted to show him 
some of her writing. She had improved so much. 
But she said nothing of this to Trent. They 
were in sight of their boarding home when she 
spoke again. 

“ Mr. Thornhill’s goin’ won’t make any differ- 
ence, will it.? ” 

“ No.” Sefton hesitated a moment. Naturally 


VICTORIA 


149 


he could not tell his wife that the quarrel with him- 
self was in all probability the real cause of Thorn- 
hill’s leaving. ‘‘ The new engineer comes from 
Kansas City to-morrow. The man you met, Mr. 
Corey, is the secretary of the company.” 

“ I don’t like his looks,” observed Victoria sim- 
ply. “ He looks kind o’ mean to me.” 

Sefton Trent gave his wife a sharp glance. 
She appeared to him such a child. Was it pos- 
sible she was keen enough to read a man like Corey 
at sight Certainly she had voiced his own pri- 
vate opinion of Mr. Corey. 

“ I don’t like him very well myself,” he re- 
marked presently. “ You have given me the right 
word for his face. It is mean.” 

Now, for some time past, Trent had had his sus- 
picions that the innocent father of his wife, poor 
old Amos Greer, was not getting his rightful share 
of the zinc mined by the Sunflower Company. 
The bookkeeper was non-committal, and there 
seemed to be a very good understanding between 
him and the affable secretary. In his position of 
manager, naturally Trent resented the cool way 
in which he had been excluded from the conferences 
that had gone on during the visit of Felix Corey to 
the works. 

But he said nothing of his suspicions to Victoria. 


CHAPTER XI 


The weeks that followed his sister’s hurried visit 
to Galena were very busy ones to Sefton Trent. 
Several of the wooden buildings were now com- 
pleted. Business was increasing daily. He had 
every reason to feel assured that success awaited 
the Sunflower Mining Company. 

Yet he was not wholly pleased with his position 
as manager. He had a way of telling himself 
that a manager should be one in fact as well as in 
name, and he was well aware that he had not the 
entire confidence of the Kansas City office. 

Elizabeth Abercrombie no longer wrote to him. 
Why cling to an unfortunate wretch who has dis- 
graced his family by marrying beneath him.? At 
least, he could not accuse his sister of inconsist- 
ency. 

His mother was a frail, delicate little woman, 
possessing much strength of character combined 
with extreme bodily weakness. She shared her 
daughter’s views on the subject of “ family,” and 
her son very naturally shrank from telling her of 
his hasty marriage. However, to do Trent jus- 
tice, it was not now, and never had been, his in- 
tention to keep the marriage a secret. He had 
150 


VICTORIA 


151 


simply deferred the telling as a disagreeable task, 
and youth shrinks from disagreeable tasks. Be- 
sides, he dreaded the effect upon his mother. 

But the unexpected visit of his sister and their 
exchange of hostilities gave him courage. His 
mother would hear of it any way, but he himself 
should be her informer. So he sat down at his 
desk on reaching the office very early one morning 
and dashed off a few lines to Mrs. Madeline Dela- 
ware Trent of Philadelphia announcing his mar- 
riage the previous summer with an offhand jocu- 
larity he was far from feeling. He said little of 
his wife, except to tell of his love for her and his 
fervent hope that she might be considered a daugh- 
ter. What could he have told of Victoria? He 
could almost shriek out the contents of the Aber- 
crombie letters that winged their way eastward 
after that wretched interview in the Galena hotel. 

Strangely enough, the letter he expected in 
answer to his own did not come at all. Instead of 
the torrent of reproaches and denunciations he 
was steeling himself to bear, his mother’s letter 
contained not the slightest allusion to his mar- 
riage. 

It was not that his letter had failed to reach her. 
It was received and one or two inquiries he had 
made regarding old friends carefully answered. 
Her next letter was received promptly. Still no 
mention of his wife. His marriage was simply 
ignored. 

Trent was sorely annoyed and hurt by his 


152 


VICTORIA 


mother’s silence on the subject, although he said 
nothing about the matter to his wife. 

He could readily understand how deeply his 
mother might be wounded by his very tardy an- 
nouncement of anything so important as his mar- 
riage, yet if such were the case, clearly she would 
not reply to his letters at all. Naturally, when 
writing to his mother after that first letter, he 
made no mention of his wife. Pride, of course, 
forbade that. 

Meantime, Victoria was, if anything, growing 
prettier and was for the most part as happy as a 
bird. 

She saw little of her girl friends now. Country 
people are not lacking in pride, and it was gener- 
ally whispered about that Victoria’s grand city 
husband did not approve of the “ ways ” of the 
Kansas young ladies ; so the Kansas young ladies 
very promptly “ dropped ” the couple. 

This probably was the only course open to 
them; yet they did Victoria great injustice. Mrs. 
Sefton Trent was “ getting horribly stuck-up.” 
That was the report that some one who presum- 
ably was in a position to know spread broadcast 
among the country friends, and the report was up- 
held by certain incontestable proofs. 

Victoria, as was entirely natural, craved the 
companionship of her young friends, yet her hus- 
band’s sarcasm when directed toward these friends 
angered and wounded her, hence she seldom sought 
their society. 


VICTORIA 


155 


Mrs. Fordham and Mrs. Melton she disliked in- 
tensely, and the hours when her husband was ab- 
sent at his office were not very pleasant ones to her. 
The conversation of these ladies she felt was very 
often over her head. Their explanations, so con- 
descendingly bestowed, were galling to her sensi- 
tive spirit. 

During the winter a new boarder appeared at 
Mrs. Davidson’s. This was Miss Lockhart — if 
she had any other name, no one seemed to know 
it — a teacher in the public schools, a fine-looking, 
intellectual young woman of a large type who 
came to the supper table one evening and acknowl- 
edged all introductions with an unsmiling sedate- 
ness that should have warded off all familiarity. 
But a long course in “ boarding ” seldom results 
in noticeable delicacy of feeling. And both Mrs. 
Fordham and Mrs. Melton were no longer “ fresh- 
men.” Why should they not manifest a becoming 
interest in a young woman who wore a tailored 
suit of such good cut and a linen collar that was 
higher and tighter and stiffen than the one young 
Mrs. Trent was wearing which had been sent from 
St. Louis 

Miss Lockhart took her hazing manfully, an- 
swering question after question without flinching. 
Let us hope that she had nothing to conceal. Her 
manner was frank enough to be slightly discon- 
certing. Few persons enjoy this soul-revealing 
question and answer, yet the teacher gave ready 
replies — that was her part — even remained 


154 


VICTORIA 


quietly in her chair several minutes after her sup- 
per was finished, as though to afford her question- 
ers opportunity for further enlightenment. 

Trent got up from the table in disgust, scarcely 
waiting to finish his supper. Victoria, who had 
been a highly-amused listener, followed him to 
their room above stairs. “ Why didn’t you stay 
longer down there.? ” she inquired when the upper 
hall was reached, “ ’Twas fun.” 

“ Disgraceful, you mean,” he muttered. “ Miss 
Lockhart is a lady.” 

“ But why did she answer ’em if she didn’t want 
to ? ” queried his wife in surprise. ‘‘ She didn’t 
have to.” 

“ Wanted to have it over and done with I sup- 
pose,” ventured Trent. “ Those two women are 
positively vulgar.” 

Victoria’s eyes gave a sudden quick flash of de- 
light. “ I told you they wus horrid ! ” she ex- 
claimed triumphantly. “ They’re the very mean- 
est things I ever seen ! ” 

For several days, Victoria watched the new 
boarder very closely. After that first evening. 
Miss Lockhart never remained at the table a mo- 
ment after finishing her meal. She never entered 
the parlor. She never lingered for a word in the 
halls. She wore the tailored gown every day. It 
was always well-brushed; her collars always were 
immaculate. She never smiled; never spoke ex- 
cept to answer a question ; and the hours not spent 
in the schoolroom were passed alone in her own 


VICTORIA 


155 


small room where she was allowed to read, write 
and study unmolested. 

With this silent, stately young woman for 
model, Victoria Trent took to staying in her own 
room. But lacking Miss Lockhart’s resources, 
her hours of solitude were desperately lonely and 
unhappy ones. 

She sewed very neatly ; yet Trent had an aver- 
sion to much sewing. Embroidery made her im- 
patient, it was so tedious. Knitting was fashion- 
able; but Victoria could not knit. So she took 
to crocheting in a feverish way. She crocheted sev- 
eral silk neck-ties, giving two to her father which 
he wore on alternate days with great pride; one 
to Ben Hill which he wore on Sundays ; and three 
to Trent which he wore not at all. 

Her father and grandmother she saw fre- 
quently ; but the spring brought many cold, rainy 
days which for the most part she spent alone in 
her own room. When the weather was fine, she 
drove around the town and sometimes out over the 
familiar stretches of country road which she loved. 

Her sister Ray she missed more than any one 
knew, and Ray came to see her but seldom. Trent 
did not like Ben Hill and made no secret of the 
fact. “ Clodhopper ” was the name he occasion- 
ally used in speaking of his brother-in-law to Vic- 
toria, who was quick to resent such an uncompli- 
mentary appellation. 

True, Trent never spoke of Ray in any way that 
was calculated to wound his wife’s feelings. He 


156 


VICTORIA 


considered Mrs. Hill a good-natured type of 
country girl, and knew she was far more intelli- 
gent than her spoiled young sister. But when a 
farmer’s wife sells butter and eggs in the town, 
she should not expect a fastidious city-bred man 
like Trent to express pleasure when her produce- 
laden vehicle stops before his own door. Not that 
Trent had given utterance to the disgust he felt; 
but both sisters understood, and the knowledge 
served to keep them apart. 

Serenely happy in her own marriage, Ray told 
herself that it would all come right in time. But 
poor Victoria had no philosophy. She could not 
persuade herself that estrangement from Ray 
would ever come out all right. The feeling that 
she was in some indefinable way drifting away from 
her family wore upon her. The thought came to 
her at times that this was probably what Trent de- 
sired ; but she resolutely put it from her. She 
would not be disloyal to her husband even in 
thought. But — 

It was late in April when Trent brought the 
news one night that he would be absent three or 
four days on business in Iowa and Nebraska that 
demanded his attention. 

Victoria was looking over the pages of the lat- 
est fashion magazine. There were some wonder- 
ful new ways of doing the hair. She intended try- 
ing them all. Surprised at the suddenness of her 
husband’s announcement, she looked up, a careful 


VICTORIA 


157 


index finger wedged in at the pages devoted to 
coiffures. 

“ Goin’ fer three whole days, Sefton? Or four? 
Whatever’ll I do all by myself? Please let me go 
’ith you, dear. Will you? I’ll be terribly lone- 
some. I will, Sefton. You needn’t laugh.” 

Trent shook his head. “Was I laughing? ” he 
asked. “ I should not do so. More especially 
when you are so very complimentary.” 

Victoria flung an arm loosely around his neck. 
“ Take me along, Sefton. I want to go ’ith you. 
Please.” 

He pulled her playfully down on his knee. “ I 
would like to take you,” he said very gently. 
“ But this time I cannot, my dear. You see I am 
going to make a few small towns. I shall not be 
stopping long at any place. Some other time.” 

His wife sat up very straight. “ I hones’ly 
b’lieve you don’t want me ’ith you,” she said with 
a little pout. “ I could go as well as you. I get 
so terrible lonesome, Sefton.” 

A little sigh escaped her, and he noticed that the 
hazel-grey eyes were misty with unshed tears. 

His arms went round her and he held her close 
against his breast for a long silent minute. 
“ Lonesome, are you, darling? I must get you 
something new to read, something that you will 
like. The four days will go quickly. Next time 
I hope to take you with me.” 

The tears did not fall, and the little cloud 


158 VICTORIA 

passed, leaving her face bright and sweet as a 
child’s. 

The following morning, a cold, drizzling rain 
was falling; but notwithstanding the protests of 
her husband, Victoria insisted on walking beside 
him to the railway station at the other side of the 
town. Assuring him that she was neither sugar 
nor salt, she splashed along in raincoat and over- 
shoes, wholly unmindful of the soaking, spring 
drizzle. 

Three sleepy-eyed drummers and a tired little 
woman with two babies were on the platform as 
they came up. There was just time for a hurried 
interview with the ticket agent, and the long black 
train emerged from the mist and came whistling 
around the curve. 

Victoria stood and looked after the departing 
train, a feeling of utter loneliness settling down 
upon her like a weight. 

Trent waved a gay hand from one of the win- 
dows of the rear car. She saw the tired woman 
pull one of the cross babies down from another 
window. 

The rain continued to fall during the day. 
Trent had forgotten the reading matter that was 
to amuse her. The new ways of doing the hair 
required more skill in their arrangement than she 
possessed, so she sewed until her aching eyes 
warned her that night was fast approaching. 

The next day was fairly clear and the sun tried 
hard to shine through thin, drifting clouds. In 


VICTORIA 


159 


the afternoon, she called for her horse and spent 
the time until dark with her fathel* and grand- 
mother. 

The third day she dressed for Trent and spent 
the morning expecting him, or rather hoping that 
he would return earlier than he intended. But a 
letter received soon after dinner informed her that 
his trip would necessarily have to be lengthened to 
five days, possibly six. 

Six days 1 Victoria would drive out to her sis- 
ter’s the following morning and stay until dark. 
Sefton would not like it, of course. But she was 
going all the same. She was not going to stay 
all by herself in that horrid boarding house. 


CHAPTER XII 


No letter came from Trent the following morn- 
ing. Instead, there was a large square envelope 
addressed to herself. The post mark was Kansas 
City, and she knew no one there. Wonderingly, 
she tore open the envelope and read the enclosure 
once, twice, then many times. 

“ I am stopping in Kansas City for a few days and 
am most anxious to see you and talk with you before 
I leave for my home in Pennsylvania. I am not quite 
well enough to go to you. Besides, I think I can call 
myself an old woman and claim an old woman’s 
privilege of asking young people to come to me. I 
am at the Hotel Baltimore, and I will esteem it a 
very great favor if you will come. And I feel sure 
that you will when I tell you that I am Sefton’s 
mother. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ Madeline Delaware Trent.'^ 

Sefton’s mother! 

Victoria let the letter drop to the floor and stood 
looking straight before her with puzzled, unseeing 
eyes for the space of several minutes. 

Sefton’s mother ! Perhaps — perhaps — The 
girl’s heart gave a great bound. Mrs. Trent was, 
of course, a very great lady indeed. But she was 
160 


VICTORIA 161 

evidently kind and good, not at all like his cold, 
disagreeable sister. 

But Sefton was not here. What would he think 
of her going up to Kansas City by herself His 
mother must think it all right, or she would not 
ask her to go at all. Should she go ? Should she ? 
She so much wished to see Ray. And she intended 
going out there this very day. 

But just to put a few things into her grip, and 
go off without telling any one to a big, big un- 
known city — it seemed a very daring thing to 
do. Its very daring appealed to her. It would 
be a real adventure; that was just what it would 
be. And it would end very happily; for Mrs. 
Trent would kiss her and tell her that she was go- 
ing to have her for her very own daughter all the 
rest of her life, and — and — 

Sefton would not be angry. Indeed, he would 
be both surprised and pleased. And she would de- 
fer the visit to Ray. Since Ray was not expect- 
ing her, she would not be disappointed. 

The night train was the one to take. The early 
morning would find her in Kansas City. And that 
same afternoon she would return. Why, the nov- 
elty of the thing fairly took her breath away. 
And Sefton — Well, there was no danger whatever 
of his returning to Galena before she did. 

So all that day Victoria Trent dreamed glow- 
ing dreams of entering upon a sort of fairy-prin- 
cess existence with the constant companionship of 
the hitherto inaccessible Trents. And she hummed 


162 


VICTORIA 


gay little snatches of popular love songs while she 
brushed her dark blue serge coat suit, took the 
plume off her large felt hat and sewed it on no 
less than four times, and inspected with a critical 
eye her three pairs of shoes and all the gloves she 
possessed. Sefton had once said that shoes and 
gloves were the things that marked the dress of the 
true lady. 

By evening, this little visit to her husband’s 
mother had assumed something of the importance 
of a presentation at the Court of St. James. 

Baltimore Hotel. Victoria remembered seeing 
that imposing structure when she went to Kan- 
sas City the previous year with her father and 
Ray. Even the name sounded formidable. Sef- 
ton would never have given her credit for so much 
courage. She hoped none of the prying boarders 
at Mrs. Davidson’s would see her on the way to 
the train. 

But when Victoria was actually on the way to 
the train that night, one pair of eyes did see her, 
a pair that could by no means be called prying. 
Within a half block of the station, she came sud- 
denly face to face with Miss Lockhart who, de- 
tained earlier in the day by pressing school du- 
ties, was taking a belated constitutional. At sight 
of Victoria’s bright face, the teacher stopped. 

“ You are not leaving us I hope, Mrs. Trent,” 
she said, manifesting more interest than was her 
wont. “ I see you look like a traveler.” 


VICTORIA 


163 


“ I’m cornin’ back to-morrow night,” Victoria 
returned lightly. “ I ain’t travelin’ very far.” 

“ I’ll see you off,” volunteered Miss Lockhart 
pleasantly, turning and walking beside her until 
the little station was reached. 

“Pleasant journey and safe return,” she called 
some minutes later, as Victoria mounted the steps 
to one of the brightly-lighted coaches. 

The girl turned and waved her well-gloved hand. 
“ Good-bye,” she called quite gayly. “ Good- 
bye.” 

When Victoria Trent found herself in the spa- 
cious reception room of the Hotel Baltimore the 
following morning, she was surprised to find that 
her courage had somehow taken flight during the 
long hours of the night, and left her a prey to 
many fears. 

To her country-bred eyes, the room looked ex- 
ceedingly rich, a harmonious blending of soft, sub- 
dued shades waking to brightness under the mel- 
low influence of sunlight through heavy lace win- 
dow draperies. 

Suppressing a little exclamation of admiration 
which the beauty of the apartment excited in her, 
she dropped onto a divan not far from the en- 
trance door, immeasurably relieved to find the 
place almost deserted. Victoria’s breath came 
fast. Clearly, she must acquire some semblance 
of outward composure before she could go through 
the trying ordeal of an encounter with Sefton’s 
mother. 


164 


VICTORIA 


Not far from where she sat, a girl in a modish 
costume of white wool was talking in an animated 
fashion with two men. From the conversation, 
Victoria gathered that they were discussing an 
automobile drive of the previous day. From time 
to time, the men would glance in Victoria’s direc- 
tion; the girl heeded her entrance not at all. 

A tall, middle-aged woman with an alert, quick- 
glancing eye and proud carriage walked majestic- 
ally in, and without a glance at the occupants of 
the room, touched an electric button on the wall. 
Before she had reached a chair, a boy in dark uni- 
form with many shiny buttons ran in. 

“ Take my card up to Mrs. Sylvester’s room, 
please,” said the majestic lady, offering a small 
square of cardboard. The boy bowed and darted 
away to return in a few minutes with another bow 
and the assurance that Mrs. Sylvester was receiv- 
ing. 

The lady departed, escorted by the uniformed 
youth ; the conversation about the automobile 
party grew more animated; Victoria fell to think- 
ing. She had learned something. The proper 
thing then — and Mrs. Madeline Trent knew all 
the proper things, of course, — was to send a card 
with one’s name upon it to the lady one wished to 
see. But Victoria had no card. And she did not 
know where Mrs. Trent’s room was in that big 
hotel. 

But she breathed easier now. So she got up 
from the divan and stepping boldly across the 


VICTORIA 


165 


soft-dyed rugs and slippery intervening spaces of 
polished hardwood, she in her turn touched the 
mysterious button precisely as the lady of ma- 
jestic presence had done. 

In an instant, another uniformed youth very 
like the first appeared. 

“ Will you please tell Mrs. Trent a lady has 
came to see her.? ” Victoria’s voice quivered forth 
like the note of some small, frightened bird. How 
she wished she could say it like the self-possessed 
lady who called upon Mrs. Sylvester. But this 
staring boy with his smoothly-plastered hair and 
rows of shining buttons intimidated her. 

“ What name shall I say. Miss ? ” he asked po- 
litely. 

Victoria threw up her head, and fixed her ques- 
tioning young eyes upon his face. “ Tell her it’s 
Mrs. Sefton Trent.” 

Before she had time to wonder how she could 
be so brave, she was in the lift beside the wearer 
of the gleaming buttons and going up, up, up, the 
red in her cheeks deepening as she ascended and 
her heart fairly in her mouth, which last would ap- 
pear to be a physiological impossibility. 

Mrs. Trent’s room was at the end of a long cor- 
ridor, and as a matter of fact, was one of the least 
expensive the hotel contained. But to Victoria, 
it had the effect of unrivalled magnificence, and the 
cold gray-blue of its cloud-like tones oppressed her 
young spirit as the first chill winds of autumn 
blanch the delicate budding flower. 


166 


VICTORIA 


Mrs. Trent was seated near a lace-curtained win- 
dow reading a magazine. She rose at once and 
came quickly forward, holding out a slender white 
hand. The faint smile upon her face was one she 
had for all guests. 

Madeline Trent was a small woman. She was 
obliged to lift her eyes slightly to the fresh young 
face of her daughter-in-law, who was of medium 
height. She was dressed very plainly in black, 
and her snow-white hair was beautifully arranged 
above her pale, delicate face. 

Despite the smile and handshake, the girl felt 
the chilliness of her reception, and the long, scru- 
tinizing stare which the elder lady bestowed upon 
her did not serve to make her more comfortable. 

“ So this is Sef ton’s wife.^ It seems a little odd 
that I have never heard your name. I suppose my 
son forgot to mention it when he wrote.” 

She released the girl’s hand as she spoke and 
pointed to a small rocking-chair. 

“ Victoria. My name was Victoria Greer,” the 
visitor assured her, taking the chair designated, 
and wondering vaguely if she was not going to be 
asked to remove her hat. 

Mrs. Trent glided to a seat not far away, plac- 
ing a dainty lace handkerchief between the pagas 
of her magazine to mark the place. This was 
done with very great deliberation. 

“ Victoria. I am sure you have a beautiful 
name,” she said in slow, gentle tones in which, how- 
ever, there was little interest. ‘‘ And now, Vic- 


VICTORIA 


167 


toria, you must tell me all about yourself,” she 
added more brightly, “ for you see all you people 
have kept me in ignorance so long that, like a 
child, I want to know everything at once.” She 
folded her beautiful white hands lightly upon the 
magazine and looked full into the girlish face be- 
fore her. “ You look very young.” 

“ I’m seventeen, Mrs. Trent,” Victoria said 
slowly. “ I wus sixteen when I wus married.” 

Although she had not been invited to remove her 
hat or coat, there was something in Mrs. Trent’s 
manner, a gentleness, a repose, that went far to- 
ward putting the girl at her ease. 

“ Sixteen. Yes ; Victoria, that is very young. 
You and Sefton were not acquainted very long? ” 

“No; ma’am. Folks said ’twas love at first 
sight, an’ I guess ’twas. We ain’t denyin’ it.” 

The elder woman’s face bore no trace of the dis- 
gust this unconventional speech inspired. “ You 
were too young to get much education, of course.” 
This with downward infiection. 

“ I didn’t go to school much. I guess I ain’t 
got much schoolin’ no how. I never wus made to 
go reg’lar.” Victoria spoke quite humbly. 

Her mother-in-law deliberated for some minutes, 
her eyes on the soft-toned rug at her feet. When 
she raised her head, she drew a little sigh. 

“ Well, I must confess my son’s marriage is a 
great mystery to me, a very great mystery.” 
Then after another long pause she added : “ I 

cannot understand it at all.” 


168 


VICTORIA 


Victoria was usually quite pale. Now the hot 
blood fairly raced in her cheeks. In the shadowy 
depths of her hazel-grey eyes glowed little danc- 
ing golden flames. 

“ I s’pose what you mean is that you don’t see 
why Sefton ’ud want to marry me. Well, he did. 
He wus free, white an’ twenty-one. An’ he hadn’t 
to marry me unless he wanted to. He wusn’t run 
after.” 

The childish frankness of this speech was some- 
what disconcerting even to so self-possessed a lady 
as Mrs. Madeline Trent. She had not expected 
that her words would provoke this angry outburst. 
In amazement, she noted the flashing eyes; the 
proudly-defiant little head ; the tightly-clasped 
gloved hands. 

“ But you know we mothers do not like to lose 
our boys,” she said with a little smile intended to 
be conciliatory. “ That is but natural. You 
must understand that my son is an educated man. 
I hoped he would select an educated woman for 
his wife, one who would help him. I am much 
older and have had more experience in life than 
you. Happy marriages are usually those where 
husband and wife begin life as equals. The time 
will come when you will think as I do, I am sure.” 

‘‘ Equals? ” questioned Victoria vaguely. “ You 
mean I ain’t good enough fer Sefton, don’t ye? 
Ye wanted him to marry some grand princess I 
s’pose. But he married me. I’m his wife an’ I 
guess his folks’ll jus’ have to make the best of it. 


VICTORIA 


169 


I don’t talk like the persons in books, an’ I’m jus’ 
a poor girl. But my father’s as good a man as 
ther is in the hull world. An’ I feel myself plenty 
good enough fer yer son. Sefton loves me. I 
love him. I’m goin’ to make him a good wife. 
I’m sorry you don’t like me. But I didn’t ask 
you to like me. I come up here ’cause you sent fer 
me an’ — ” 

I want to thank you for coming,” Mrs. Trent 
murmured softly when she could get in a word. 
“ It was kind of you. I really must say I did 
not — ” 

But Victoria had risen. Evidently it was her 
intention to cut short the painful interview. 
Mrs. Trent got to her feet, too. The carefully- 
guarded magazine fell to the floor, dislodging in 
its downcoming the inserted tiny square of cam- 
bric and lace. Clearly Mrs. Trent had lost her 
place. The girl standing tense, defiant, before 
her was beautiful. But that her son’s wife should 
have such unusual beauty did not serve to soften 
her feelings in the least. Rather it but added to 
the injury already done the aristocratic Trents. 

‘‘But — but will you not stay longer?” she 
asked hesitatingly. “ I did not say that I did not 
like you, you — ” 

“ But ye meant it jus’ the same,” interrupted 
Victoria quickly. “ I’m young an’ I don’t know 
much. But I can tell a good deal about what 
folks are thinkin’ of me. I used to hope some- 
times ’at you’d like me. You see I grew up ’thout 


170 


VICTORIA 


any mother o’ my own. She died. But it don’t 
make no difTrence to me now whether ye like me 
er not. My husband loves me. An’ nothin’ else 
in the hull world makes any diff’rence.” 

Tears were trembling on the girl’s long dark 
lashes; but she would have died rather than have 
them fall. At the door she turned with a stiff 
little bow, for she could not trust herself to speak. 

Mrs. Trent, more startled than she had been for 
years, darted forward to stop her departing guest. 
She had not meant that they should part in enmity. 

“ Why — why — I never intended — ” 

But Victoria had closed the door behind her. 

When Mrs. Trent reached the corridor, the hem 
of a dark blue veil was disappearing around the 
corridor entrance. The little lady ran swiftly 
after the flying veil. But the elevator gate clicked 
into position when she emerged from the corridor. 

Mrs. Trent returned to her room feeling rather 
uncomfortable. 

“ What a dreadful girl ! Ugh ! Her temper ! ” 

Only the walls heard Mrs. Trent’s words. 
Then she stooped and picked up the magazine. 
But she did not go back to her reading. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Victoria Trent having journeyed to Kansas 
City with many little girlish hopes springing up 
warm and bright within her breast walked away 
from the Hotel Baltimore with the consciousness 
that all these cherished hopes were utterly crushed. 
During the journey, she had, of course, been visi- 
ted by a veritable army of fears as well ; but buoy- 
ant youth has a way of trampling under its strong, 
impetuous little heel the disagreeable things of 
life, and on this occasion, Sefton Trent’s young 
wife had chosen to exercise her prerogative. 

Oddly enough, when she found herself in the 
street at a safe distance from the great cold build- 
ing which sheltered her aristocratic little mother- 
in-law, she experienced no sense of defeat. Rather 
there came to her a strange exaltation of spirit, 
which even the lowering skies above her did not 
dispel. For the sun had crept behind shapeless 
masses of dull leaden clouds, and already there was 
a suspicion of mist in the atmosphere. 

‘‘ Sefton loves me ! Sefton loves me ! ” That 
was the happy little song that Victoria’s young 
heart kept singing over and over. “ Sefton loves 
me ! Sefton loves me ! ” And with that little 
happy song making continual melody within, even 
171 


VICTORIA 


172 

th^ big unknown city was by no means a cold, 
]' nely place. The whole world was bright! Se- 
cure in her husband’s love. Secure. As she had 
said, nothing else mattered. 

With light feet she traversed the short distance 
to Main Street and entered one of the shops. She 
must purchase some small present for her hus- 
band — very small indeed it must be ; for she had 
still to buy her return ticket to Galena and there 
were just fifteen dollars in her small handbag. 

The shop was one in which jewelry and fancy 
articles were retailed, and the girl wandered from 
counter to counter feasting her eyes on the won- 
derful beauty of the wares displayed under the 
heavy glass cases. Victoria loved beautiful things. 
It was a pure delight to her to look upon them. 
In truth, she still had the child’s desire to caress 
with her fingers many things which she now beheld 
for the first time in her life. 

But as she looked, a tiny, perplexed wrinkle 
stole between the hazel-grey eyes and a faint sigh 
escaped her. Always the little mental subtrac- 
tions she performed left remainders too small to 
buy that ticket home. She was still undecided, 
when it suddenly occurred to her that she was 
very hungry indeed. Alas! Her dinner would 
have the effect of reducing that contemptible re- 
mainder still more. Victoria had passed a res- 
taurant close to the Hotel Baltimore, so she walked 
back there debating the rival claims of purchasable 
articles on the way. 


VICTORIA 


173 


Entering the restaurant, Victoria found her- 
self in an immense hall where long rows of small 
tables covered with snowy damask fairly glittered 
with silver and cut glass. Many people were seated 
at the tables and there was much subdued conver- 
sation ; much light laughter mingled with the 
jingle of silver and china; and the swish, swish of 
silken skirts which swept past her as she waited 
timidly inside the door uncertain what to do. 

With two bounds, an obsequious colored waiter 
was before her, and much to her relief, he con- 
ducted her to an inner room where tall painted 
screens and stiff palms in dull brass jardinieres 
divided the floor space into small alcoves, each 
with its tiny table laid for two. Here in the al- 
cove farthest from the street, Victoria found a 
seat, gave her order with all the ease of manner 
she could call to her aid, removed her pretty, well- 
fitting gloves and waited. 

Sparkling glass ; dainty, semi-transparent china, 
white with a tiny band of pink rosebuds and pale 
purple violets for decoration ; a cunning little 
frosted silver teapot sending forth its fragrant 
steam — Victoria’s dinner looked so extremely in- 
viting that she needs must take a little time to ex- 
amine the engraving on the silver, take up and 
put down the oddly-shaped teacup before filling 
it, and then, whoever would dream of eating 
strawberries in that funny way with all the stems 
on.?^ Wonderingly the girl lifted one, holding it 
by its long stem, and turning it round and round 


174. 


VICTORIA 


before dipping it in the tiny silver boat which 
held the powdered sugar. 

Without paying any particular heed, she was 
conscious that she was not alone in this particular 
comer of the big cafe! In the screened alcove 
next her own, there was the noise of moving chairs 
and the faint, indistinct murmur of voices. People 
were going to have dinner on the other side of the 
big painted screen. 

“ But why didn’t you marry Miss Forest.? ” 

Victoria started forward, and the luscious scar- 
let strawberry dropped from her fingers, falling 
with a little splash into the still untasted tea. 

The questioner on the other side of the screen 
was a woman, and there was something strangely 
familiar in the soft feminine voice that arrested 
her attention. Where had she heard it before.? 
For a long minute she puzzled over the matter. 
The next instant she was on her feet struggling 
with the wild impulse to scream out; to trample 
down the intervening bit of brightly-painted land- 
scape; to do she knew not just what mad thing; 
for it was Sefton Trent’s voice that answered the 
woman’s query, and he was speaking as calmly as 
though he and his mother were in the habit of 
dining at that particular cafe every day of their 
lives instead of being separated by half a continent 
for more than a year. 

Six months ago, Victoria Trent would undoubt- 
edly have revealed her presence there at once ; but 
association with her husband had, all unknowingly. 


VICTORIA 


175 


taught her some small measure of self restraint, so 
she sank back in her chair now, besieged by a cruel 
army of doubts and questioning fears. She had 
been tricked then. The letter from her mother-in- 
law was all a ruse to get her to come to Kansas 
City in order that the great lady might feel com- 
petent to express her word of censure after a per- 
sonal interview. The plan was well-laid by her 
husband and his designing mother; for of course, 
Sefton had left home knowing that Mrs. Madeline 
Trent was in the West. That was the reason that 
he could not take his wife with him. The terrible 
pain of it all I The cruelty ! And she ? She had 
been a fool, a blind, helpless fool. As one sud- 
denly groping for light, her hand sought her fore- 
head. But she quickly let it fall again, clenching 
it so tightly that the nails sank into her soft palm. 
Ik seemed as though she must suffocate. But she 
strove desperately for calmness. She would 
listen. And in the end she would rush in and de- 
nounce them both. She would — 

“ Why did I not marry Laura Forest .f* ” Trent 
was saying. “ Well, I suppose the real reason was 
because I was a beggar and she was one of the 
richest heiresses in Kansas City. What had I to 
offer a girl like Laura Forest ? ” This last was 
spoken with much apparent bitterness. 

“ You take the wrong view of these things, my 
son. You are Miss Forest’s equal in everything 
but wealth. What does that really matter.? You 
see she visits the Chester girls, and they say she is 


176 


VICTORIA 


beautiful, accomplished, amiable and altogether 
charming. Is she ? ” 

“ She is indeed all of those things.” The man 
spoke with quick decision. 

“ Son, son,” came his mother’s voice reproach- 
fully, “ you can think that and then be content to 
let some other man win her.? ” 

“ I never was a fortune hunter, mother.” 

‘‘ And you never were exactly a lunatic either,” 
spoke Mrs. Trent sharply. “ You see we heard all 
winter from Eleanor Chester who was in constant 
correspondence with Kansas City friends that the 
announcement of your engagement to Miss Forest 
was confidently expected by every one. Indeed, 
she wrote that all Miss Forest’s friends felt cer- 
tain that an engagement really existed between 
you. You can perhaps imagine the shock your 
hasty marriage was to me after all these reports. 
For I suppose you will not deny that you married 
in haste.? ” 

It was some time before her son spoke. “ Oh ! 
I guess it was hasty enough,” he said with a light 
laugh in which Victoria detected a little note of 
sarcasm. “ I did not know ten minutes before the 
ceremony that I was going to be married at all. 
There is no mistake about the haste.” 

“ Sefton, what are you going to do about this 
absurd marriage.? ” The woman’s tone was 
sharper, more cutting than she had heretofore 
used. “ What are you going to do about it ? ” 


VICTORIA 177 

“ Going to do about it? ” he questioned in slow 
surprise. “What does one generally do?” 

“ Yes. You can’t marry and hide a wife out 
in a little backwoods town all your life.” 

“ Hide my wife out? ” he demanded in amaze- 
ment. 

“Yes. Isn’t that precisely what you are do- 
ing? Why cannot you get a divorce? ” 

Then Victoria heard her husband laugh immod- 
erately. 

“ I confess I see nothing to laugh at,” snapped 
Mrs. Trent in a slightly offended tone. 

“ Why, mother, I have heard your views on di- 
vorce many times. You have told me a hundred 
times at least that you considered divorces dis- 
graceful.” 

“ I know I have. But our views alter fre- 
quently when things come into our own lives and 
those of our families. Believe me, son, it would 
be better for you both to part. There can be 
no real happiness for you. And she too would be 
far happier with a man of her own class. Those 
things are done every day. Why should your 
whole life be ruined? That is what it means to 
marry an ignorant, uneducated woman. Son, I 
cannot bear it. If the law can give you your free- 
dom, why not take it? ” 

“ But, mother, an honorable man does not in- 
voke the aid of the law to free him from the con- 
sequences of his own acts. I was foolish. I know 


178 


VICTORIA 


it. My marriage was a hasty one, I grant you. 
But I married and I am not going to shirk re- 
sponsibilities. If I had it to do over again, I 
would not marry Victo — ” The waiter coming in 
with a jingling tray of glasses rendered the rest of 
Trent’s speech inaudible. 

“ If I had it to do over agam, 1 would not marry 
Victoria” 

Those were the words that came to the girl on 
the other side of the screen. But what Trent said 
was really different. “ I would not marry with so 
much haste.” With so. How easy to mistake 
these two little words for the first syllables of her 
name. 

“ But, son — ” 

“ I am no dastard, mother,” he interrupted 
quickly. “ Only a coward deserts his wife. 
Don’t, mother. You did not counsel so when I 
was a child. You cannot mean what you say now. 
What you would call a ruined life is better than a 
successful one founded on a wrong done to an- 
other. A mean act would warp any life. No ; if 
I have thrown myself away, as you appear to 
think, at least I can keep my self respect. 
And — ” 

There was the movement of two people sud- 
denly getting up from their chairs, the sweep of 
a softly-trailing skirt upon the polished hardwood 
floor, and the neighboring alcove was deserted. 

Victoria sat very still, her great troubled eyes 
upon the painted screen before her. There was 


VICTORIA 


179 


a very blue sky where two birds sailed forever, 
close to a mass of fleecy white clouds. Below, tall 
bending reeds and drooping golden-green willows 
shaded a still pond as blue as the sky above. A 
tall water bird stood on one leg amid the slender 
rushes and craned its long, graceful neck above 
the sun-flecked waters. 

It was a peaceful summer scene, but its very 
tranquillity jarred upon the girl. She felt she 
hated that great, ungainly water-fowl. The 
whole picture seemed burnt into her brain, the blue 
sky; the snow-white clouds; the deep, shadowy 
pool. 

“ I was foolish. My marriage was a hasty one. 
If I had it to do over again, I would not marry 
Victoria.” 

So Sefton Trent had married her upon the im- 
pulse of one wild moment. He had married her; 
yet he had never loved her at all. It was beauti- 
ful Laura Forest with all her accomplishments; 
her great wealth and charm that had won his love. 
But he had not asked this proud Miss Forest to 
be his wife for the simple reason that he was poor. 
Doubtless he had chosen her for her poverty. 
Yes ; certainly if he were looking for a wife who 
like himself was a beggar, she, Victoria Greer, had 
had that one requisite at least. Yes; she was a 
good enough wife for a poor man. And she 
laughed aloud, a harsh, bitter laugh that startled 
her, so unlike it was to her own clear, ringing one. 

And all her husband’s protestations of love had 


180 


VICTORIA 


b€en nothing but falsehoods. Lies they were, 
wicked, cruel lies. And she had believed them. 
Why, she would have sworn they were all true. 
Then the memory of their little quarrels, hasty 
words that Sefton had uttered, came up, magni- 
fied now as they were in the light that had fallen 
upon her during that overheard conversation in 
the cafe. 

And Sefton had criticised her, often severely. 
It had been so hard to please him. Now, she told 
herself she knew why. And she had tried, had 
tried so very hard to be what he would have her. 
And despite her love for him, it had not been easy. 
And he had never loved her at all. What a fool 
she had been. She had trusted him so. She had 
loved him so dearly. Yes ; had loved him. For 
it was all over now. Her love was dead. There 
were some women who loved men that neglected 
and ill-used them. But she was not one of those. 
Why, she hated Sefton Trent. Already she hated 
him. How she wished that horrible bird on the 
screen would shriek and shriek and stretch out its 
great wings and fly away. And the stiff, shiny 
leaves of the palms in the jardinieres that stuck 
out like so many sharp, cruel swords. She wanted 
to tear them from their stalks. She wanted — 

“ Is yo’ sick. Miss ? Does yo’ want me to oadah 
a kerridge fo’ yo’ ? ” 

The obsequious colored waiter stood grinning 
before her executing a series of elaborate bows. 


VICTORIA 


181 


His kindly black face expressed genuine concern; 
but Victoria never heard what he said. However, 
his entrance served to recall her to herself. She 
sprang up, mechanically opened her handbag, tak- 
ing from it a silver dollar which she laid on the 
table beside the untasted meal, and staggered, 
rather than walked, from the alcove. 

It was long past the dinner hour. The cafe 
was deserted save for two colored men who were 
laying the tables for supper, moving quickly from 
place to place and handling the delicate table ware 
with a deftness which bespoke long practice. As 
they worked, one sang a sort of plaintive chant 
through which there ran a thread of weird, sweet 
melody. 

“ Ise gwine home to die no mo’, 

Ise gwine home to die no mo’, 

Ise gwine home to die no mo’. 

Is gwine, gwine, gwine home.” 

When she reached the street, Victoria shivered. 
The air had grown colder and a heavy mist held 
the city in its vise-like grip. The great tall build- 
ings frowned gray and indistinct on either hand, 
taking on degrees of increasing shapelessness in 
the distance. 

Without thought or aim, Victoria turned and 
followed the moving throng of pedestrians east- 
ward. Where she was going, she did not know. 
But one thought was clear. She was not going 


182 


VICTORIA 


back to Galena. No; she was not going home 
again. And she was never going back to her hus- 
band. Never! Never! 

On she walked with fierce, overmastering en- 
ergy to Grand Avenue, up Grand, turning east- 
ward again past the heavy, columned entrance to 
the Public Library, on and on, the city streets 
growing more deserted, the all-enveloping mist 
growing ever denser. 

How long she walked, Victoria never knew. 
She had no thought of time at all. Urged by some 
force which she could not control, she was impelled 
forward helpless as a withered leaf in a wind 
storm. 

It was not until sheer bodily weakness called a 
halt, that she realized how far she must have 
walked, and how necessary was her return to the 
business portion of the city. 

For Sefton Trent should be free. He wanted 
to be free; yet would not ask a divorce. But she 
was not going to be the wife of a man who did not 
want her, a man who already regretted his mar- 
riage. And not a year had passed since they were 
married. One little short year. She was going 
to get a divorce herself. It was not so terrible to 
be divorced. Many people were divorced. Only 
Granny — 

Well, she would not let herself think of Granny. 
Lawyers were the only men who got divorces for 
people. How tired she was. Her hands were so 
cold, for she had thrust her gloves into her hand- 


VICTORIA 


183 


bag and her fingers were fairly purple. And her 
blue serge skirt, fairly dripping with water, 
wrapped around her knees impeding her progress 
as she dragged herself over the slushy, slippery 
sidewalks. Her feet in their thin coverings were 
soaking wet. But the buildings were taller now. 
There were more people about. She began read- 
ing the signs in. the windows as she passed, with 
difficulty often, owing to the falling water drops, 
for the mist had changed to a wretched, drizzling 
rain, and it was rapidly growing darker in the 
streets. 

Suddenly an electric light flashed its white glare 
from a window she was passing, and she read the 
gilded letters on a door right before her. 

“A. W. WARDEN 

“ ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR- AT-LAW 
“OFFICE THIRD FLOOR” 

Before her appeared steps innumerable that 
went up, up, up. But A. W. Warden was a law- 
yer. Victoria shook the water from her dripping 
skirts and began the ascent of the two flights of 
stairs. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Sefton Trent left his mother on the broad steps 
of the Hotel Baltimore, and at Twelfth Street 
boarded the first car for the Union Station. He 
knew that his wife had no acquaintances in Kan- 
sas City, and after that most unsatisfactory visit 
to Mrs. Madeline Trent, he felt almost certain 
she would wish to leave for home as speedily as 
possible. Then too, among strangers, Victoria 
had the timidity of a child. He wondered more 
and more at the courage she had shown in coming 
alone to the city in response to his mother’s re- 
quest. 

Of course, he deeply regretted the step she had 
taken ; yet he could not find it in his heart to blame 
her. Looked at from his point of view, it seemed 
a most gracious thing for any young girl in her 
place to do. 

But he could readily understand the effect of an 
encounter with his mother upon little spoiled Vic- 
toria. It had been a sore trial to himself to con- 
verse with the worthy lady. In fact, it was only 
because he had kept a strong rein on his temper 
that he had been able to talk calmly at all. 

But Trent felt the estrangement from his only 
sister most keenly and had no mind to break with 
184 


VICTORIA 185 

his mother just then, no matter what the provo- 
cation. 

More than a year had passed since he last saw 
her, and he noticed with a pang that she had in 
reality aged greatly. Her white hair was far 
whiter; the lines in her face had deepened; in 
truth, there was about her a certain weakness as 
of one who is weary of the burden and heat of 
the day and longs for the quiet of the evening. 
Her son had noticed the greatest change in her 
beautiful white hands, so thin now, so shrunken. 

The time spent with his mother had been far 
too short for a thorough discussion of his affairs. 
And she had been unreasonable. He remembered 
that she had always been unreasonable. He ex- 
pected she would be, of course. It was only in 
degree that her unreasonableness surprised him. 

Talk of divorce! As though he did not love 
his trusting, beautiful young wife. He fell to 
wondering how he had kept his temper at all, and 
he laughed so loud that the man in the seat beside 
him turned and stared at him in amazement. 

When he arrived at the station, it wanted but 
fifteen minutes of the time for the departure of the 
afternoon train south. So he searched diligently 
through the waiting rooms above and below stairs, 
the balcony, and even boarded the train which was 
on its accustomed track. 

But his wife was nowhere to be seen. Clearly 
she meant to wait for the night train. He took 
up his station by one of the gate keepers and 


186 


VICTORIA 


scanned eagerly the faces of all who entered the 
yards. But the great train swung out without 
her at the appointed minute, and he turned dis- 
appointed away. 

Victoria was much too young and far too beauti- 
ful to be alone in a big, unknown city. How he 
wished she had not come. But having come, he 
could not but feel that his mother owed her the 
protection of her presence until such time as he 
himself could be communicated with. 

Victoria had been wrong in thinking that her 
husband and his mother had been acting in con- 
junction. Mrs. Trent telegraphed her son at 
Galena on first coming to Kansas City. This tel- 
egram had not been delivered to his wife, but in- 
stead had been sent to one of the towns he was to 
visit, and thus had failed to reach him. It was not 
until she had given up all hope of seeing her son, 
that Mrs. Trent wrote his wife asking for a visit 
from her. The delayed telegram was handed 
Trent just out of Kansas City when he was return- 
ing to Galena, and he arrived at the Hotel Balti- 
more about ten minutes after his wife had fled with 
precipitate haste from the presence of the little 
white-haired woman who had tried to call her back. 

Trent stood irresolute and gazed after the de- 
parting train, undecided as to what way he was 
to go about finding his wife. To be sure she might 
be at any one of a dozen hotels. He crossed the 
street and made inquiries at the Blossom House, 


VICTORIA 187 

the one hotel in the vicinity of the station at which 
she would be likely to stop. 

But Victoria was not there, and had not been. 

He told himself she would without doubt take 
the night train. That anything had happened to 
prevent her immediate return to Galena was in- 
credible. Besides she had had very little money. 
She would be at the station that evening. Why, 
it was just possible she had not inquired at what 
hour the first train left for the South. 

This he told himself. Yet try as he would, he 
could not rid himself of a vague feeling of uneasi- 
ness on her account. He wished now he had taken 
her with him. She had pleaded so hard to go. 
And next time she should go with him. Mean- 
while, there were one or two matters connected with 
business which he could see to; then he would re- 
turn to the station and await his wife. 

Trent’s first visit was to one of the directors of 
the Company, Judge Warden, who received him 
with a cordiality that proved somewhat discon- 
certing to the younger man, so greatly did it con- 
trast with the extreme formality of the old gen- 
tleman’s attitude toward him in the days when he 
was a frequent caller at the Warden home. 

“Well, well, bless my soul! Mr. Trent, how 
are you.^ I’m glad to see you. Village life ap- 
pears to agree with you. I hope you’ll find time 
to go out to the house. Laura will be delighted 
to see you,” he said releasing Sefton’s hand after 


188 VICTORIA 

a hearty grip which, to tell the truth, the visitor 
did not return. 

Trent had little faith in Judge Warden’s protes- 
tations of friendship. “ Thank you,” he returned 
a little stiffly, “ but I cannot have that pleasure 
this time. I came in about noon and shall be in 
the city but a few hours. How is Miss Forest.? 
Well, I hope? ” 

“ Yes ; Laura is very well. She is preparing to 
go East in a few days. Won’t you sit down, Mr. 
Trent? ” Judge Warden pointed to a chair and 
chattered away in his pleasant old-gentleman 
fashion, and his visitor listened politely without 
betraying any very great interest in the subject 
matter. When he found an opportunity to pierce 
the eloquence of the elderly lawyer, he went 
straight to the matter that troubled him at times 
in the management of the Sunflower Mining Com- 
pany. 

“ There are certain matters I did not care to 
put on paper. Judge Warden,” he began some- 
what abruptly. “ I though it best to make a per- 
sonal call on you. You remember the Company 
made an agreement with Mr. Greer, the owner of 
the zinc land down there near Galena, by which 
he was to receive a certain percentage of the net 
profits of the concern? The finances are managed 
wholly from this end. That is, the City Office di- 
rects everything connected with money. And I 
know there is a disposition on the part of some of 
your members to do Mr. Greer out of his share. 


VICTORIA 


189 


The reports are never submitted to me. I insisted 
on seeing one mailed to the Company’s office last 
week. It was a doctored report.” Trent looked 
full into the face of the elderly man. “ It was not 
a correct statement,” he repeated slowly. 

Judge Warden’s face expressed just the proper 
shade of surprise. Mingled with this surprise 
was a certain horror of the sinner who would stoop 
to defraud. 

“ Well! Bless my soul! Mr. Trent. Now I am 
amazed. Who is the man they are trying to 
cheat ” 

“ You met him, Judge Warden. You remem- 
ber the man who owns all that land, Amos Greer.'’ 
I married his daughter. That, however, is not 
my reason for insisting that justice be done him. 
He is about as well-fitted to cope with rascals as 
a child is. And he has a child’s trust in other 
people.” 

Judge Warden took up a paper knife from his 
desk, then laid it down again with much delibera- 
tion. “ Well, well ! ” he exclaimed, lifting his eyes 
from the contemplation of the paper knife. “ So 
you married a little country girl. You are sensi- 
ble, Mr. Trent. These city girls expect too much. 
They don’t make good wives. Well, I must say 
I’m glad you let me have this little glimpse into 
the affairs of the Company. The directors ought 
not to be kept in the dark you know. And I 
promise you there shall be a change. I will have 
the matter looked into at once. I will see Hunt- 


190 


VICTORIA 


ington. There’s a man who hits from the shoul- 
der. We’ll have things done on the square. Very 
glad you told me, Mr. Trent. Very glad.” 

Judge Warden’s garrulousness was peculiarly 
irritating to Trent. He had never liked Miss 
Forest’s grandfather. He told himself he liked 
him less than ever now. He wished he could talk 
the matter over with Huntington, although for ob- 
vious reasons he had no love for that prosperous, 
self-made gentleman either. And there was no 
time to see him, as he must call at the City Office 
before leaving town. 

It was an immense relief to escape to the street 
outside, although a cold, clinging mist drew him 
into its environs on emerging from the gloom of the 
long stairway. For some moments he stood ir- 
resolute. 

There was upon him that feeling of uneasiness 
connected with Victoria. He must hasten back 
to the Union Station. 

But that night, the southbound train carried 
Sefton Trent back to Galena alone. He tried to 
persuade himself that his wife had somehow con- 
trived to board the previous train without his 
knowledge. In fact, he left the train at Galena 
with a more hopeful feeling than he had known 
for hours. Of course, she would be safe at home 
waiting for him. And like the man in the old 
ballad, he’d “ never leave her more.” 

But Victoria had not returned to the boarding 
house. At the Greer farmhouse, they did not even 


VICTORIA 


191 


know that she had been away. Trent stared 
blankly at the face of his father-in-law who stag- 
gered across the room to meet him. The horror in 
the old man’s face was pitiful to see. 

“ Victoria ! My little girl ! My baby ! Alone 
in that den of wickedness ! ” he exclaimed. “ I’ll 
go find her. I’ll hunt her all over the world. But 
I’ll find her. I’ll — ” 

But his mother broke in upon him with the calm 
strength that does not jump at conclusions. She 
laid a detaining hand on the old man’s arm, a 
hand that trembled for all her confidence. 

‘‘ Now, now, Amos, no need o’ bein’ skeery. 
Victoria’s all right. There’s folks that goes 
through all sorts o’ wickedness ’thout even sus- 
picionin’ it’s there. Victoria’s one of ’em. Don’t 
you go to bein’ a baby yerself.” 

“ I’ll find her, Mr. Greer,” Trent assured him, 
trying to speak with a hopefulness he was far 
from feeling. “ Surely she is more to me than to 
any one. I love — ” 

But the old man stopped him with an imperious 
gesture that Victoria herself might have made. 

“My God! man,” he shouted fiercely. “You 
talk of loving .J’ You that ha’ known my girl a 
few months. She’s been more’n my life to me 
goin’ on fer eighteen years. Lost in a city. An’ 
not knowin’ what it means. Not knowin’.” 

He flung himself down in an agony of grief, 
and his weak voice wailed forth over and over 
again : “ My girl ! My little baby girl ! ” 


CHAPTER XV 


When Victoria Trent set foot on the landing 
after treading the two long flights of stairs which 
led to the law office of A. W. Warden, she stopped 
just long enough to take one good breath before 
tapping ever so timidly on the heavy oaken door 
before her. It did not once occur to the girl to 
turn back; instead, courage to face anything, to 
dare anything, seemed to have entered into her, 
seemed to impel her forward with fierce overmaster- 
ing energy which she was powerless to resist. 

A loud-spoken “ Come in ” sounded from some- 
where inside in response to her feeble knock and 
the next moment she stood silent and a little awk- 
ward in a big, uncarpeted room where the continu- 
ous rustling of papers and the ceaseless click, 
click of a typewriter were the only audible sounds. 
The occupants of the room were three young men 
busily employed, and for a long minute, no one 
appeared to heed her entrance at all. Then one 
of the men got up quickly from his place, and 
bowed politely, his face clearly evincing the in- 
terest that the sight of a very pretty woman un- 
failingly inspires in every man the world over. 

“ What can we do for you, madam? ” he inquired 
pleasantly, looking full into the great troubled 
eyes of the girl. 


192 


VICTORIA 


193 


“I — I want to talk with Mr. Warden,” stam- 
mered Victoria, feeling her face grow very red. 

“ He stepped out some time ago. But we ex- 
pected him back any time. Should you like to 
wait? I will show you to Judge Warden’s private 
office,” said the man. 

“ Yes ; I’ll wait fer him,” Victoria replied after 
some little hesitation. “ Maybe he won’t be long.” 

“ I feel sure he’ll be back shortly,” the man said, 
opening a door and motioning her into an inner 
room. The man at the typewriter had not once 
lifted his head. 

“ You can wait for Judge Warden here,” her 
conductor said, pulling forward a heavy, leather- 
cushioned chair. Then he closed the door and 
returned to his interrupted labors, after informing 
his fellow workers that a sure enough good-looker 
was following the trail of the judge. 

The room in which Victoria sat alone was 
large and quite luxuriously furnished. The floor 
was covered with a dark carpet of unoffending 
design ; the walls lined with bookcases of light oak 
well-filled with volumes in heavy calf bindings. 
Lace curtains hung before the two long windows 
shutting out the dreary wetness of the world with- 
out, and two brilliant electric lights flashed un- 
blinkingly above the massive oak desk. The bright- 
ness and warmth proved most grateful to the girl 
who was so fatigued that every bone and muscle 
cried out for rest. 

But the waiting was irksome to her who had 


194 


VICTORIA 


never in her short life as yet learned the lesson of 
patience. She started up hopefully when at 
length the office door was opened; but it was only 
to sit back in her chair again, the chill of disap- 
pointment made doubly harder to bear for the mo- 
ment’s hope, for it was not Judge Warden who en- 
tered but a lady who walked easily in, took a seat 
by one of the long windows, and sat there gazing 
dreamily through the lace draperies into the rap- 
idly-darkening street below. 

The lady was young and dressed with scrupu- 
lous adherence to the prevailing mode. Not that 
Victoria Trent who watched her from across the 
office could have told this. But she knew that 
from the harmoniously-blended blue and brown stiff 
wings upon the coarse straw walking hat to the 
tip of the shapely suede shoe there was a fault- 
less combination of the various things that go to 
make up “ correct dressing.” 

As the tired girl in the great chair gazed, some- 
thing in the new-comer’s face claimed her attention. 
It was not alone that the face was beautiful, there 
was something strangely familiar about it. Vic- 
toria was positive that never in her life could she 
have seen the lady before, yet the resemblance 
seemed to challenge her memory. 

It was a young, bright girl-face, and its frank 
happiness struck her with a dull feeling of resent- 
ment. What right had that other girl sitting 
there before her like some fair and gracious pic- 
ture to all the happiness, while she — 


VICTORIA 


195 


Victoria Trent sighed heavily. That little sigh 
spoke so eloquently of sorrow, of utter hopeless- 
ness and despair, that the girl at the window turned 
her wondering face from the contemplation of the 
fast falling rain outside and bent a kindly-inquisi- 
tive glance upon the utterly forlorn young crea- 
ture not fifteen feet from her. The next moment 
she was bending over Victoria, a sympathetic hand 
resting on the wet, shrinking shoulder. 

“ You are in trouble.'^ I am so sorry. Can I 
do anything to help you.^ ” 

Victoria opened wide her big anguished eyes. 
“ I come to see Mr. Warden. I want to get a 
divorce,” she faltered. 

“ Oh ! ” There was infinite pity in the face so 
near Victoria’s. “ Why, you look so young. So 
very young,” she exclaimed. “ But perhaps you 
can make up the quarrel again and — ” 

“ There wa’n’t no quarrel,” Victoria interrupted 
quickly. “He — he’s jus’ tired o’ me. I 
heard — ” 

“ Perhaps he was angry and said something he 
is very sorry for now,” suggested the stranger 
girl gently. 

But Victoria shook her head. “ He wasn’t mad 
at all,” she said. 

“ Some one may have told you — ” 

“ I heard him say his own self ’at he wus sorry 
he married me,” Victoria said with a defiant toss 
of her well-set little head. 

The other young woman drew up a small office 


196 


VICTORIA 


divan and sat down. The case seemed a difficult 
one to deal with judged from the standpoint of 
one of those concerned at least. But she was a 
very persevering young lady and after a pause, 
she spoke more gently. “ After all, he is your hus- 
band you know. He chose you for his wife. I 
suppose there were other girls he could have mar- 
ried ? ” 

“ I wisht he had ha’ married one of ’em then,” 
snapped Victoria. 

“You must try to forgive him.” The strange 
lady spoke with quiet earnestness. “ You love 
him of course.” 

“ I don’t. I hate him ! ” Victoria almost 
shrieked. “ I hate him, hate him, I tell you ! ” 

“ But it is wrong to have that feeling toward 
any one. You might be unhappy all your life 
long you know. Divorces are dreadful things.” 

The girl beside her spoke very gravely, not 
taking her eyes from Victoria’s stormy young face 
into which a slow wonder crept. 

“ Did you ever get a divorce ” she demanded 
quickly. 

The answer came accompanied by a light- 
hearted little laugh. 

“No; indeed. I have never even been married. 
But I am older than you.” 

“ I’m seventeen,” said Victoria. 

“ And I’m twenty-three. Where is your hus- 
band.? ” 


VICTORIA 197 

“ I dunno. He was in Kansas City to-day. I 
dunno where he is now. An’ I don’t care.” 

“ Well, give me some address where a letter may 
reach him. Let me help you both,” pleaded this 
new friend with grave concern, reaching for one 
of the small, clenched hands. 

But the pleading tones had no soothing effect 
upon the poor enraged little wife. She jumped 
up now, her eyes a blaze of angry yellow light, her 
whole slender figure trembling from the violence of 
her emotions, partially repressed hitherto. 

“ No, no, no! ” she cried with an angry sweep 
of her slim right arm. ‘‘You mus’ not try to find 
him! You mus’ never tell him! Promise me you 
will not ! Promise me ! ” 

“ Why, yes ; since you wish it. I promise I 
will not communicate with him in any way.” The 
lady spoke with eager readiness. 

Victoria sat down again. Both were silent. 
One of the men in the outer office came in quietly 
with a telegram in his hand. 

“ Judge Warden has just wired that he was 
called out of town on important business,” he said, 
placing the telegram on the desk. “ He will be 
away some days.” 

When the man had returned to the outer office, 
the girl on the divan turned to Victoria. “ Judge 
Warden will be out of town several days,” she said. 
“ It is raining very hard. My carriage is outside. 
Let me drive you to your friends.” 


198 


VICTORIA 


Victoria stood up and smoothed down the lapels 
of the wet serge coat she was wearing. “ I have 
no friends livin’ in this place,” she said wearily. 

“ Your home is not in Kansas City then? ” 

“No. I come from Kansas. From Galena.” 

The girl before her gave a little start. But she 
did not tell Victoria that a resident of Kansas 
could not procure a divorce in Missouri. 

“ What is your husband’s name ? ” she asked, 
though without much interest. 

“ Sefton Trent.” 

Victoria was not looking at this new friend, so 
she did not see the swift change in the fair, sweet 
face. For a long minute, there was silence. Then 
the elder girl spoke. 

“ And you are Sefton Trent’s wife? Your hus- 
band is a friend of mine. Judge Warden is my 
grandfather. I am Laura Forest.” 

At the name Victoria shrank back as though 
she had been dealt a blow. This then was the girl 
she had hated. Yes ; hated, that was the word. 
A torrent of fierce, angry words rushed to her lips. 
But she could not utter a syllable. There was so 
much of real sorrow, of genuine womanly pity in the 
luminous eyes, so warm, so tender, like wet garden 
violets bent full upon her, that great tears — the 
first she had shed — welled up in her own eyes and 
she gave way to wild, passionate weeping. 

Laura Forest walked to the window and gazed 
out at the wet spring night. The street lights 
were all ablaze now. An endless procession of 


VICTORIA 


199 


pedestrians splashed along over the slippery side- 
walks. The shop windows were brilliantly illum- 
inated, making the dreariness of the streets more 
disagreeable by contrast. Somewhere a great 
clock struck, and a steam whistle shrilled out 
harshly in the distance. 

Laura Forest walked back to the girl who was 
sobbing now in a heart-broken, hopeless way. 
“ Come, Mrs. Trent, you are going home with 
me,” she said, passing her arm around the waist of 
the trembling girl. “ I am going to take care of 
you. Oh, you need not be afraid of a crowd,” she 
added laughingly, as she saw the hesitancy in the 
girl’s face. “ I live in a great big house with just 
my grandfather and a number of servants. My 
grandfather is not at home, you know, at present. 
You shall stay very quietly in your room if you 
wish. Only my maid will wait upon you.” 

Victoria stared. Why, this was a great lady in- 
deed. In the novels she read, the heroines always 
had maids who said: “ Yes, my lady,” and “ No, 
my lady,” as they bound the raven tresses of their 
queenly mistresses with strings of diamonds and 
ropes of pearls. 

“I — I — ” she stammered when she could find 
voice. 

“ But you see I cannot leave you all alone in this 
big, strange city, Mrs. Trent — ” Miss Forest be- 
gan ; but Victoria put out a staying hand. 

“ I won’t be called ‘ Mrs. Trent,’ ” she said 
with childish petulance. “ I jus’ won’t.” 


200 


VICTORIA 


‘‘ But you see, dear, I do not know your other 
name,” remarked Miss Forest with a queer little 
smile. 

“ Victoria.” 

“ Victoria. That means one who wins, a victor. 
I will call you Victoria. Then you must not say 
‘ Miss Forest,’ but Laura. That is much better 
between friends. And now we must go.” 

It did not occur to Victoria to utter any protest 
when she was thus taken completely in charge by 
this new friend. Very meekly she followed Laura 
Forest down the long stairway to the street, sur- 
prised to find that complete darkness had fallen 
upon the rain-washed city. Whirled rapidly 
along, the street lamps flashed here and there for 
a moment in passing to become fewer and fewer 
as the business portion of the city was left behind, 
and they began the ascent of the long, upward- 
stretching drives that led to beautiful Hyde Park, 
one of the suburbs of the city. 

The drive was a long one, the girls for the most 
part silent. Victoria watched the rain zigzagging 
against the carriage windows, too tired even to 
heed where she was going or what she was to do. 
The mere sensation of sitting still afforded her a 
certain bodily relief that was peculiarly welcome 
in her troubled mental state. And Laura left her 
free to acquire what peace of mind, surcease of un- 
happiness, she might during the long drive. 

Arrived at the Warden home, she was given a 
small room next Laura’s own, seldom used by 


VICTORIA 


201 


guests, and it was here that Lisette undertook to 
make her comfortable for the night after a warm 
bath and vigorous brushing of the abundant brown 
hair. 

Propped up among pillows in a bed which re- 
minded her very forcibly of the one George Wash- 
ington died in — seen in a picture over the fire- 
place at the residence of Mr. Doak Tibbs — Vic- 
toria ate her supper waited upon by the attentive 
Lisette, who tried to impress upon her continually 
the necessity of eating very heartily. 

But poor Victoria could scarcely swallow a 
mouthful. Every bite almost choked her. Long 
after Lisette had departed with her silver tray and 
the remark that enough hadn’t been eaten to keep 
a bird alive, she lay staring straight up at the 
pale pink ceiling with its faint wreaths of morning 
glories, seeing nothing at all, her troubled eyes 
wide open, her small hands tightly clenched. 

She was still awake when Laura Forest stole in 
attired for a party, trailing clouds of pale sea 
green floating round her like a mist ; pearls on her 
bare arms and shapely, snow-white neck ; pearls in 
the piled-up masses of her lustrous gold-brown 
hair. 

“ What, still awake, dear.? ” she whispered, and 
stooping kissed the pale, anguished face of Sefton 
Trent’s young wife. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Hour after hour of that long night passed and 
toward morning sleep came to Victoria, — sleep, 
heavy, dreamless, such as comes sometimes to those 
utterly exhausted. From this sleep, she awoke at 
a late hour in the morning without feeling really 
refreshed. 

Laura Forest, a world of unspoken sympathy in 
her luminous violet eyes, came in after an early 
luncheon eaten in solitary state in the little Dutch 
breakfast-room below stairs to find her guest 
clothed in a pale blue cashmere wrapper of her 
own, the delicately-moulded neck gleaming snow- 
white against the black velvet collar, her dark hair 
in two heavy braids falling over the back of her 
low wicker rocking-chair almost to the floor. 

She was indeed a pathetic little figure, the 
troubled wonder in her young eyes and general 
air of listlessness went to Laura’s heart. She 
kissed the drooping girl and laid a caressing hand 
on the shining dark braids. 

“ What lovely hair you have, dear,” she said 
brightly. “ But you must not braid it often. It 
takes out the natural wave. It is pleasant out of 
doors. Should you like to take a little drive 
with me.? ” 

The drooping figure in the wicker chair sat up, 
202 


VICTORIA 


a03 

her eyes meeting the smiling ones of her hostess. 
“ No,” she said simply. And there was no an- 
swering smile in the eyes where the tints of hazel 
and shadowy grey mingled like waters from which 
the glorious sunlight has been forever withdrawn. 
Then as though it suddenly occurred to her that 
she might appear ungrateful, she added slowly, “ I 
want you to know that I do feel awful thankful. 
Why are you so kind to me ? So good ? ” 

Laura Forest walked slowly to the window and 
flung up the heavy shade, letting in a flood of 
warm April sunshine that brought out all the soft 
harmonious tints in the furnishings of the pretty 
bedroom, and made her own fair hair to glow like 
burnished gold. She came back to her guest and 
dropped down on the pink and white Wilton rug. 

“ Why am I so good to you, dear? ” she asked 
thoughtfully. ‘‘ Is it not my duty to help another 
woman in trouble? Perhaps I have no reason in 
particular. Perhaps — ” 

‘‘Ain’t there no reason?” queried Victoria, 
though without much interest. 

Laura Forest looked off beyond the girl’s droop- 
ing head to the glimpse of budding trees and blue, 
unclouded sky that the window afforded. Then 
she deliberately lowered her eyes again and looked 
full into the suffering young face. 

“ Victoria, between friends, the truth is always 
best. Yes ; I have a reason. And sometime I may 
tell you what that reason is. But not now. Will 
that do? And you must not ask me.” 


204 * 


VICTORIA 


“ I won’t ask unlest you want me to. I wish I 
could be good like you.” 

A pretty red flowered in Laura’s satin-smooth 
cheek. Then she laughed lightly. “ I’mi not 
good, dear. Why, I’m actually frivolous. I’m 
worldly-minded,” she said, repressing the desire 
to shake Victoria. “ And now,” she added, “ you 
must talk to me very freely. I am going to try 
to be really good you know. I am going to be a 
peace-maker. You must go back to your hus- 
band.” 

The girl in the chair started in genuine alarm. 
“ I’ll never go back,” she said. “ Never. I ain’t 
a-going to be Sefton Trent’s wife ever again. Not 
if I live to be a thousand years old.” 

“ But listen, Victoria. You and your husband 
are both so young. When two people love each 
other, it is so sad for them to part. It is but a 
little quarrel. One of our American poets has 
written some words like these : 

“ * Love scarce is love that never knows 
The sweetness of forgiving.* 

“ Why, you may love each other all the better 
after this. Who can — ” 

“ I hate him ! I hate Sefton Trent,” inter- 
rupted Victoria. “ I ain’t never goin’ to see him 
again 1 ” 

“ You only imagine you hate him I feel sure,” 
remarked the girl on the floor. ‘‘ Let me write to 
your husband.” 


VICTORIA 


205 


But Victoria Trent jumped up, her hands work- 
ing nervously, her whole frame trembling. 
“ Laura, you promised me yest’day you wouldn’t 
never tell,” she gasped in a frightened way. “ You 
did promise. You did.” 

“ But you will let me take back my promise,” 
pleaded Laura. “ Sefton Trent and I are old 
friends. I want to be his friend now. His friend 
— and yours.” 

“ But you give me yer promise,” repeated Vic- 
toria. “ And folks don’t break promises,” she said 
conclusively. 

‘‘ You promised to love your husband,” Laura 
reminded her, though very gently. “ You prom- 
ised when you married him. ‘ As long as ye both 
shall live.’ Marriage means for always, Vic- 
toria.” 

There was a scornful toss of the proud little 
head. “ I guess I never did promise to love any 
man when he got tired o’ me,” she returned with 
more bitterness than she had yet shown. “ I hope 
I got a little more spunk than that.” 

She sank down again in the small rocking-chair 
and relapsed into her former listlessness. 

Impulsive Laura sprang up and walked around 
the room, entreating, reasoning, explaining. But 
at the end of half an hour, she was forced to the 
conclusion that the pallid little ghost in the chair 
before her was like unto a stone wall for obstinacy. 

She was simply not going back to her husband. 
“ Sefton always laughed at me,” she said for the 


206 


VICTORIA 


twentieth time. “ I made lots o’ mistakes. I 
didn’t know things. He could ha’ told me ; but he 
didn’t. I could see lots an’ lots o’ times ’at he 
was ashamed o’ me. I felt it. An’ he didn’t deny 
it neither, when he was talkin’ to his mother. I 
guess — I guess he thinks I’m a fool.” 

She stopped suddenly. Laura feared she was 
going to cry. But a glance at the set lips and 
hard, glittering eyes re-assured her. She said 
nothing, and presently Victoria spoke again. 

“ The Trents are all of ’em a mean set. His 
mother ’ud jus’ freeze ye, and his sister looks as 
though she was always thinkin’ herself away better 
— better’n other folks, miles better, an’ she says 
the meanes’ things, the meanes’ — ” Victoria swal- 
lowed hastily and added more gently : “ I never 

was spoke to like that before. Pop always makes 
a pet o’ me, an’ Granny’s awful strict; but I can 
always get around Granny all right. I have a 
sister, too, Ray. She’s lots better’n me. I know 
it. She married a man who is awful good to her. 
Oh, she’s happy all right. Ray is.” Then she 
gave Laura a long searching look. “ I wonder 
why Sefton didn’t marry you.” 

But Miss Forest did not hear, or at any rate, 
did not answer. 

“Why didn’t Sefton marry you, Laura?” re- 
peated Victoria. 

“ Why didn’t Sefton marry me ? ” Miss Forest 
went over the words very slowly. “ Why didn’t 
he? Why, he never asked me to marry him. Sef- 


VICTORIA 207 

ton was never in love with me. Did you think he 
was ? ” 

“ I don’t see how he could help it,” said Vic- 
toria wonderingly. 

At this very flattering speech, Laura laughed 
merrily. “ A great many men seem to help it,” 
she said softly. “ In fact, it has never seemed in 
the least difficult.” 

Victoria did not pursue the subject. To tell 
the truth, her own troubles loomed so large before 
her that they appalled her. She felt grateful 
enough to crawl at Laura’s feet, yet she could not 
force her mind to the consideration of her affairs 
just then. 

Laura sat down close to Victoria. “ What 
plans have you, dear.?^ ” she asked presently. 

“ I ain’t a-goin’ back to Galena,” announced 
Victoria simply. “ I got my mind made up on 
that.” 

“ Not to your father? ” 

“ No. Ev’rybody ’ud say as I didn’t get along 
’ith my husband. Catch me havin’ all them Galena 
folks lookin’ down on me fer bein’ a divorced 
woman.” 

“ Don’t.” Laura laid a caressing hand on the 
one near her own. “ Don’t call yourself that, 
Victoria dear. It hurts me. You are not going 
to be a divorced woman. Just wait.” 

“ I’ll do somethin’ to support myself,” said Vic- 
toria resolutely. ‘‘ Other girls do. I guess I can 
too.” 


208 


VICTORIA 


“ But what can you do? ” inquired her new 
friend in surprise. 

Victoria thought a long time. “ I s’pose I 
could be a clerk in a store,” she said finally, as 
the result of this mental inventory of her capabili- 
ties. 

Then it was Laura Forest’s turn to think a long 
time. 

“ I know something better than that,” she ob- 
served at length, breaking the silence that had 
fallen between them. “ You say that Sefton and 
all his family think that you do not know enough, 
that you have not the advantages that a good 
education bestows. How would you like to study 
To learn ? ” 

Victoria lifted her drooping head with a sud- 
denness that evidenced more animation than she 
had heretofore shown. “D’ye think I could?” 
she demanded in astonishment. 

“ Yes ; from the shape of your head I surely 
think you could,” laughed Miss Forest, playfully 
tapping the head in question. Then she remem- 
bered that Sefton Trent had been in the habit of 
ridiculing his sensitive young wife, and she be- 
came at once sweetly serious. 

“ Why should you not become an educated 
woman?” she resumed. “You are still very 
young. And few people are really too old to 
study.” 

“ I’m only seventeen,” Victoria assured her. 
“ That ain’t so dreadful old.” 


VICTORIA 


209 


“ I should think not, indeed,” the elder girl as- 
sured her. “ I am twenty-three and I do not con- 
sider myself old. But you are much younger you 
see. If you apply yourself now to getting an 
education, in a few years you will be the equal of 
your husband in every respect and — ” 

“ I’d never go back to him,” Victoria inter- 
rupted quickly. 

“ In a few years you would be the equal of any 
woman,” continued Laura, paying no heed to the 
interruption. “ Let me help you. You see I can 
send you to school and never feel the expense at 
all. I will be so glad to do it.” 

“ Pop says he’ll be rich his own self when the 
zinc pans out more,” observed Victoria with much 
interest. “ He’ll help me then. I know he will. 
Pop’s so good.” 

“ I’m going to educate you myself, dear,” said 
Laura. “ And you must not feel too grateful. I 
will do this for you. Sometime I will ask you to 
do something for me. And you must do it.” 

“Do something for you.^ What?” questioned 
Victoria wonderingly. 

“ I will tell you when the time comes,” answered 
Laura, speaking very rapidly. “ Meantime you 
must not ask me.” 

Victoria drew a long breath. “ ’Twould cost a 
heap to pay fer an education fer me. Why, 
’twould take a terrible pile o’ money.” 

“I am a rich girl, fortunately,” said Laura 
very brightly. “ I must do good with my money. 


VICTORIA 


aio 

It is not really so much the individual we wish to 
help as the world in general. When you are edu- 
cated, you will understand how we feel.” 

Victoria stared rather blankly at her friend. 

“ Does it make a person feel different to be edu- 
cated.^ ” she asked. 

Miss Forest thought for some time before reply- 
ing. 

“ I do not know that I can answer that question 
exactly,” she said slowly. “But there is a differ- 
ence. Perhaps I should say that education makes 
one look at things in a different way, somehow. It 
is as though we came nearer to seeing the whole 
of a thing, not the one little part that has to do 
with ourselves. As we understand more, the lives 
of other people naturally become more to us, not 
as they touch our own lives, but as they go to make 
up a world that God intended to be wholly good. 
I fear I do not make myself very clear.” 

Victoria shook her head in a half bewildered 
way. “ No-o-o,” she was forced to allow, speaking 
rather mournfully, “ but I’ll think o’ what you say. 
(May be it ain’t right fer me to let you help.” 

“ Indeed it is right,” said Laura with quick de- 
cision. “ Not only is it right, but you will be giv- 
ing me a very great pleasure. Think how proud 
of you I will be. You see I was educated at an 
Eastern college, an institution just for women. 
We leave there filled with the real college spirit 
which means to be true to ourselves, and above afl, 
to help others. Many women teach, or write, or 


VICTORIA 


211 


work among the poor. And if we do none of those 
useful things, we surely can benefit the world a 
little by helping with our money. Indeed, many, 
many rich women are not the useless creatures they 
are popularly supposed to be. We can found 
scholarships for poor girls, we can encourage 
women of talent. The suffering, the helpless, the 
weak — Oh, Victoria, these are all around us. 
And our poor best is very, very little.” 

Laura’s listener was thoroughly interested now, 
her questioning, eager eyes fixed upon the elder 
girl’s face. 

“ I hones’ly b’lieve no body in the hull world is 
as good as you,” she said, bursting into tears. 
“ Some time I’m goin’ to do lots o’ good too.” 
These last words were whispered through quick 
sobs. 

Laura Forest waited, her arms around the weep- 
ing girl. She did not speak for some time. In 
truth, she could not. Her own tears were falling 
quietly, although this, little sobbing Victoria never 
suspected. 

It was quite late when Laura Forest stood up. 
“ Dear me ! ” she exclaimed. “ How long we have 
talked. I must run away and dress. But first, 
let me tell my plans for you. 

“ I have two dear old distant cousins, sisters, in 
a New Hampshire village. They live in a charm- 
ing old-fashioned house among big elm trees. 
They have always prepared young girls for college. 
They have enough to live on, and take only one or 


212 


VICTORIA 


two pupils a year now, to keep themselves in 
practice, they say. But they will be glad to have 
you with them, if I ask it. You shall stay right 
with them. Their house is filled with books. You 
really cannot help learning things. Latin and 
Greek and mathematics and literature — they are 
all in the atmosphere of the place. I will ask 
them to give you my old room. Oh, you will be 
wonderfully clever after a time, my dear. Then 
you’ll enter the college where I studied. — It’s a 
wonderful place, Victoria. A wonderful, wonder- 
ful place ! ” 

She ran away to dress, returning presently with 
a pencil and notebook. Her air was quite busi- 
ness-like. 

She wrote out carefully the telegram which Vic- 
toria consented to send to her father informing 
him that she was leaving Kansas City very soon 
to go to school. She was well. She would write. 
And tell Sefton she had left him and was never 
going back. 

It was a long telegram and Laura condensed it 
as much as possible, Victoria watching as she 
wrote, her eye following the little “ tails ” that had 
been so obnoxious in Laura Forest’s peculiar hand- 
writing. 

This telegram was taken to the office by the 
maid, Lisette, and its reception brought consider- 
able relief to the occupants of a lonely farmhouse 
down in the zinc fields of Cherokee County, Kansas. 

It also brought Sefton Trent to Kansas City 


VICTORIA 213 

in quest of the wife who had left him and who was 
never going back. 

But Trent’s search was unrewarded. His wife 
was not in Kansas City. Long afterwards, he 
learned that she left for the East in company with 
Laura Forest the very day his search began. 


CHAPTER XVII 


‘‘ To-morrow is the Wonderful Day — the Day 
of the Diplomas, Victoria. Shall you be sorry ” 

The slim young woman in somber college cap 
and gown turned from the window which afforded 
a fine view of the campus, almost deserted now, and 
the magnificent background of elms and maples 
beyond, and looked long at the questioner before 
replying. 

“ A little I think,” she said slowly. ‘‘ But it is 
not as though I were going to leave this dear old 
place, you know. But my work, Laura ! That is 
the wonderful thing. To feel that I am considered 
worthy to stay right on here as teacher. And 
how I love the place! I think I have a genuine 
affection for every old brick and stone on the 
college grounds. But, Laura — ” 

She sat down beside her friend, twining an af- 
fectionate arm around her. Her face was grave 
and earnest; but unusual emotion quivered in the 
well-modulated, expressive voice. 

“ I want to tell you again, dear, that I owe it 
all to you. All, everything.” 

But Laura Forest waved a slender, disclaiming 
hand. 

“No; indeed, dear. I did very little. In fact, 
214 


VICTORIA 


215 


I only set your feet in the right path, as it were.” 
Then she laughed merrily, seeing the rather hurt 
look in Victoria’s serious face. “ Well, I would 
be very glad to point to you and say : ‘ Behold 

the work of my hands.’ Only you have done the 
work yourself. I suppose you are a self-made 
woman, and all your friends are so proud of the 
record you have made. Never fear. I’ll claim 
my share of the credit. And when you become 
famous — a famous — ” 

“ Educator,” prompted Victoria readily. 

“No; I don’t like you as an educator. If I 
have to. I’ll say teacher. But I don’t like that 
either.” 

“What then?” queried Victoria wonderingly. 
“Oh, wait! You never have been enthusiastic 
about my life work. But you do not know just 
how good a teacher I shall be. Laura, you simply 
will not see that my whole soul is in the work. It’s 
a poor little floundering soul; but such as it is, 
it has found its proper place in life.” 

“ Nonsense! ” snapped Laura. “ Proper flddle- 
sticks ! You’ve a soul miles removed from the 
mechanical grind, grind of the teacher’s work. 
But we have never quarreled yet, Victoria, owing 
to the mild slushiness of my temper, of course. 
And now, on the eve of graduation, we must not 
have a vulgar ‘ fuss,’ must we ? ” 

She laughed merrily at the serious gravity of 
her friend’s face. But Victoria did not join in 
the laugh. Instead, she sat silent and thoughtful. 


216 


VICTORIA 


looking straight before her, her greyish-hazel eyes 
steady, inexpressible. 

Nine years had passed since that April day in 
Kansas City when Victoria Trent’s future had 
been so enthusiastically planned by the tall, stately 
young woman who was in the East now for the 
purpose of attending Commencement Exercises at 
this, her own Alma Mater. 

To look at the bright-faced, charming young 
senior in her dark college cap and gown, it was 
hard to understand how any one could find fault. 
But Miss Forest, upon whose fair, serene face 
even the shadow of a frown was seldom seen to rest, 
looked dissatisfied and restless now. 

Victoria was the first to speak. 

“ A book came to me to-day, a book and a 
letter,” she said quietly. “ They came from Mr. 
Thornhill. He is in Argentina. Has been there 
for years.” 

“ I know,” said Laura. 

“ How did you know he was in Argentine ? ” 
queried Victoria in surprise. 

I have heard from him occasionally,” returned 
Laura slowly. “ I wrote him about you.” 

“ Laura Forest, you keep your friends always ! ” 
exclaimed Victoria. 

“ Any one would keep Mr. Thornhill,” said 
Laura. He really deserves the name friend.” 

“ As does Laura Forest,” observed Victoria 
quietly. 


VICTORIA 


217 


The elder girl smiled ; but she did not tell Vic- 
toria what she probably would have told almost 
any other woman in her place. She did not tell 
her that John Thornhill fled from Galena when 
he found himself falling in love with his friend’s 
wife. It had not been at all owing to the quarrel 
between himself and Trent before the marriage of 
the latter, although Trent himself had always 
looked upon that as the cause. But Victoria, sit- 
ting there in the gathering June twilight, looked 
as far removed from love and lovers as some angelic 
young nun in close-walled Convent garden. 

Laura watched her in silence for some moments. 
Finally she spoke. 

“ Something has happened, Victoria. To me.” 
She tapped lightly the other girl’s hand. ‘‘ Can’t 
you guess ? ” 

“Oh, Laura! You forget I have guessed so 
often. It cannot be.” 

“ Yes ; it can be. It is,” said Laura quickly. 
“ I am announcing my own engagement. I am to 
be married the first of July. You need not stare 
or anything. I assure you older and uglier and 
grayer geese than I have often found mates.” 

“ To Mr. Huntington, of course. Laura, how 
glad I am.” 

Victoria jumped up and hugged her friend so 
heartily as to endanger seriously the pretty white 
lace dress Miss Forest was wearing. “ And you 
really love him, Laura ? ” she gasped when she sat 


218 


VICTORIA 


down almost breathless after the violent hugging. 

“ Indeed, I do love him. I am so happy, dear. 
So very, very happy.” 

At this, of course, Victoria had to kiss her friend 
again. “ I am so glad for you both,” she mur- 
mured softly. 

“ Victoria,” Laura spoke with sudden vehem- 
ence, “ don’t be a teacher. There are other 
things. Why teach when you are really a rich 
woman ? ” 

“ A rich woman must not be an idler, Laura. I 
have had before me for years the example of one 
rich woman.” She smiled slightly and resumed. 
“ I want work to do in life. I want to be use- 
ful.” 

She spoke with eagerness, enthusiasm. 

“ You say I am a rich woman,” she said before 
Laura found opportunity to speak. “ I owe my 
riches largely to Mr. Huntington. He asked to 
be put on the Board of Directors of the Sun- 
flower Mining Company and insisted on the in- 
vestigation which followed. You know the result 
of that investigation. My father was given his 
rightful share of the company’s profits. I feel 
I owe Mr. Huntington much.” 

Laura Forest jumped up from the small settee 
and stood facing her friend. There was in her 
manner much repressed excitement. 

“ Victoria,” she cried eagerly, “ you never have 
let me speak ! But I am going to talk now. And 


VICTORIA 219 

you must listen. You must. No one has ever 
told you.? ” 

“ Told me? ” questioned Victoria in surprise. 
“ What could they have told ? ” 

“ Told you ! ” exclaimed Laura breathlessly. 
‘‘No; you have never been told because you would 
not let me mention Sefton Trent’s name in your 
presence. But you and your father and your 
sister are rich to-day because Sefton Trent came 
back from the far West and insisted upon Mr. 
Huntington’s thorough examination of the com- 
pany’s affairs. And perhaps you think Sefton did 
not have an up-hill fight on his hands. Why, my 
dear Victoria, the Sunflower Mining Company was 
organized with the intention of defrauding your 
father. Of course, there were some honest men. 
But at first it was controlled by two rascals. The 
day you visited Mrs. Trent in Kansas City at the 
Baltimore Hotel, Sefton made it his business to 
inform some of the directors that the affairs of the 
company were not, in his opinion, managed in an 
honest manner. But at that time, nothing was 
done, and it was hushed up. 

“ Of course, afterward Sefton would not remain 
in Galena, naturally, and it was from letters writ- 
ten him by your father that he suspected the new 
manager of dishonesty. So he came all the way 
from the Western coast to Kansas City, where he 
had the consultation with Mr. Huntington. So 
it is to Sefton Trent largely that you are indebted 
for your wealth. 


220 


VICTORIA 


You know how valuable your father’s land is. 
Well, it was their intention to falsify reports in 
such a way as to make your father’s share of the 
profits so very small that he would be willing to 
sell his land. Mr. Huntington had some money in- 
vested, it is true, but he paid no attention to the 
management at#^ll just at first. In fact, he was 
not even a director when the company was organ- 
ized.” 

From this it will be learned that no one had seen 
fit to tell Miss Forest exactly what part her grand- 
father had taken in the aflPairs of the Sunflower 
Mining Company. 

During the recital, Victoria sat perfectly still 
looking full into Laura’s face with eyes that were 
at once intent yet unfathomable. At its conclusion 
she took a deep breath, but not once did her glance 
stray from the beautiful countenance of her friend. 

“ What I have told you is true. I know,” said 
Laura. She sat down beside the passive young 
woman on the settee again. 

“ Victoria,” she resumed, not giving the girl 
time to speak, if such had been her intention, “ I 
have a confession to make which I feel I can make 
now. You have often asked me why I helped you 
to become an educated woman, why I interested 
myself in your behalf. What I did for you, I did 
solely for Sefton Trent’s sake. You fancied your 
husband was at one time in love with me. He 
never was. I loved Sefton Trent. It is a thing of 
the past now. So I feel I can speak of it. I 


VICTORIA 2^1 

loved him, Victoria. And you never suspected.” 

“ No.” 

Victoria’s lips were slightly parted, the serious 
grey-hazel eyes wide and wondering like those of a 
child. The little “ no ” was breathed rather than 
spoken. 

“ I loved Sefton Trent. I did not want his life 
ruined. During these nine long years, you have 
been dreaming of a career, of teaching, of work 
in a world that has nothing to do with home, with 
love. I have been dreaming of the time when a 
well-rounded, loving-hearted woman would go back 
to her husband to begin life again, the past for- 
gotten — as though there had never been any un- 
happy past.” 

Victoria jumped up from the settee and her low, 
clear voice rang out: 

“Never! never! never!” Then the tones be- 
came calmer. “ Laura, God knows there are few 
things I would not do for you. But you are ask- 
ing me to do something that is not in my power. 
I cannot give again a love that died years ago. I 
am not bitter. I know that home life, such as you 
look forward to, may be ideal, may be the best for 
some women, but it can form no part of my life. 
My heart, Laura, is but a dead thing now. For 
all these years, love has formed no part of my 
existence. Oh, Laura, a new glorious world has 
been opened up to me. I feel that now I can be- 
gin to live, to live. You grew up in this world. 
You cannot know what it has been to me.” 


222 


VICTORIA 


“ Is then all this boasted education a dry, dead 
thing? ” demanded Laura with just a shade of bit- 
terness coloring the tone. Apparently she was 
speaking more to herself than to her friend. For 
a long time there was silence. Then Laura spoke 
again. 

“ What of Sefton, Victoria? He has succeeded 
out West. Succeeded without money, without in- 
fluence, as you know. He is a splendid man. He 
has been true to you all these years. The law 
would have given him his freedom years ago, had 
he wished it.” 

“ It lay with him,” interrupted Victoria calmly. 

“ And why did he not ask to be free? Because 
he had one hope to sustain him, one hope. It was 
that in the end his wife would be his once more. 
Sefton Trent does not want to be free. Give up 
this life you have foolishly pictured as ideal, Vic- 
toria. It can never satisfy, never fill the heart 
you imagine you can live without. The love of 
one good, true man is worth all the intellectual re- 
wards the world can give you. You are Sefton 
Trent’s wife. Your duty lies there. Twenty 
women can take your place here next year. But 
you alone can fill Sefton Trent’s life.” 

Laura’s voice sank to soft pleading, and her 
violet eyes were moist with tears. Not so, how- 
ever, the eyes of the pretty young senior in cap 
and gown. They expressed nothing at all. The 
cold indifference of Victoria really wounded her 
friend. 


VICTORIA 


“ What an advocate you would make, Laura,” 
she said lightly, “ if only you believed in women 
lawyers, which you do not.” 

“ Do you? ” 

“ I believe in women taking up any and all pur- 
suits if they are fitted to succeed in them,” re- 
turned Victoria calmly. “ Surely that is what 
education does for women.” 

“ Education,” repeated Laura slowly. “ Do 
you remember what Maggie, the servant at the 
home of my dear old cousins, said? She told us 
one day that she never saw any one so ‘ fierce arter 
learnin’ as Miss Victory.’ As she expressed it, 
you were ‘ dead set on leamin’. 

“ Maggie was right. You are ‘ dead set on 
learning.’ Perhaps it would be better to say you 
are obsessed by it. But when a career is the 
normal life for women, what about the wives and 
mothers ? ” 

“ Oh, there will always be enough women to fill 
those places I think,” returned Victoria indiffer- 
ently. 

“ Good, commonplace souls I suppose,” laughed 
Laura merrily, “ fitted for nothing but the monot- 
ony of domestic life. Well, Victoria, you are 
about as yielding as a stone wall, about as com- 
pliant. But people can love even a stone wall. 
And I love you. 

“ But let me play the advocate for once. Sef- 
ton Trent is here. He begs you once more, since 
you have never seen him, never read one of his 


VICTORIA 


2^4 

letters — he begs that you will see him just this 
once. May he come here? Only see him for my 
sake, dear.” 

“ I do not see how it can be anything but dis- 
quieting to both of us. We cannot possibly have 
anything to say to each other. It is better as it 
is.” 

“ Your sense of justice, Victoria, — ” Laura re- 
minded her. ‘‘ What harm can it do you ? ” 

She was trying hard not to smile. Victoria’s 
use of the word disquieting was rather funny. She 
could not help wondering whether anything in the 
world could be really disquieting to such a self- 
possessed young woman. 

“ May he come? ” 

There was a long pause. Then Victoria spoke 
very quietly. 

“ Why, yes. Because you ask it, Laura, I will 
see him.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Laura Forest’s flight from the small reception 
room where Victoria received her friends was im- 
mediate. 

“ I wonder if she fears I will change my mind,” 
thought the young college woman as she returned 
to the window and seated herself among the bright- 
colored cushions on the low seat. She did not 
smile as Laura would have done in her place, for 
fickleness was a quality which no one ever looked 
for in Victoria Trent. 

Spread out before her eyes, the college green 
was no longer deserted. Young girls in fluffy 
white dresses, sprinkled here and there with som- 
ber-garbed seniors, were chatting gayly in groups 
or strolling idly across the green velvet lawn, while 
the masculine laughter of the brothers, cousins and 
sweethearts that flock in such tremendous num- 
bers to the closing exercises of the colleges for 
women floated up from every group. 

It was a gay scene. Youth, hopeful, buoyant 
youth was having its day. Care, sorrow, age, — 
these indeed might be said to wait their opportun- 
ity ; but in the golden days of the twenties, how far 
off they seem. 

Victoria turned a little sadly from the con- 
226 


226 


VICTORIA 


templation of the sights and sounds without. 
Those dear, delightful college days were over. All 
the years to come, so crowded with life’s ever- 
pressing duties, would be so different. Could they 
be so dear? A little perplexed wrinkle crept be- 
tween the hazel-grey eyes, and the wrinkle was still 
there when Sefton Trent stepped just inside the 
open door to gaze upon the wife he had not seen 
for nine long years. For after the manner of the 
long-lost lover of the stage, his appearance fol- 
lowed hard upon the precipitate flight of his stanch 
advocate, Laura Forest. 

Trent was visibly embarrassed. For some min- 
utes he stood motionless trying to comprehend the 
change that had come over Victoria. But the 
tranquil self-possession of the wife who had been 
steadfast in her refusal to see him possibly acted 
as a prick to his masculine vanity. 

Victoria arose and advanced a step toward him 
precisely as she might greet some stranger. 
“How are you, Sefton?” she said in a tone as 
sweet, clear and as free from all emotion as that of 
some beautiful, elusive Undine. 

He took the cold hand she extended in both his 
warm ones and gazed into her great, serious eyes, 
all the longing, the repression, the heart-hunger of 
the past years in his face. 

“ Victoria ! Victoria ! ” They were the only 
words that broke from his lips at first. 

She returned his gaze with the quiet, solemn 
stare of some unabashed chUd. 


VICTORIA 


m 


This was their meeting. 

The longing to hold her in his arms, to feel the 
warmth of her lithe young body pressed close 
against his heart, to kiss not once but a hundred 
times the pure, sweet face so near his own, swept 
over Trent with a force that pained like a lately- 
opened wound. But standing there, so calm-eyed, 
so self-controlled, the dark college cap and gown 
she wore so much a part of herself, there was about 
her a certain aloofness, an air of proud reserve, 
that formed for her a veritable wall of defence. 

The next moment he was sitting alone on the 
window seat piled with cushions that boasted the 
gay college colors. She was but a few feet away 
seated in one of the stiff-backed chairs that do not 
ordinarily conduce to sociability. 

It seemed to Trent that his wife had changed 
much in the years that had passed. Just at first 
he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. 
The old defiant toss of the head was gone. — He 
would have given worlds to bring it back. In the 
eyes there was a sweeter, kindlier light; yet their 
glance was quick, direct, alert. There was the 
same healthy pallor of complexion; the same deli- 
cacy of feature ; and the dark brown hair waving 
under the little college cap had lost none of its 
luster. A beautiful, gifted, well-poised woman, he 
thought, possessing a sweet womanliness that fas- 
cinated, charmed. 

Their conversation was such as friends long 
separated might have indulged in. And as they 


228 


VICTORIA 


talked, Victoria noted the change that time had 
wrought in her husband. 

Sefton’s face had lost in refinement; yet had 
gained in strength, the strength of the man who 
has fought his way in life and conquered. Yet 
the face was strong rather than coarse, and if some 
of the elegance of manner which sat so easily upon 
him in his young days was gone, it had given place 
to a warmth, a heartiness that comes from rubbing 
elbows with the multitude. Even the set of the 
shoulders showed aggressiveness not seen in the 
younger Sefton Trent. Just above bis temples, 
the hair was turning gray. In reality he looked 
much older than when she had last seen him. 

“ Your father,” Trent found himself saying 
presently. ‘‘ He is well? ” 

“ Thank you. Father’s health is remarkably 
good. He lives with my sister now. Mr. Hill 
built a beautiful home two years ago. They have 
two dear little boys, Ben junior, and my name- 
sake, Victor. Father enjoys them so much.” 

Victoria spoke without animation; but a tender 
light shone in her eyes at the mention of the little 
nephews. 

‘‘ I was sorry to hear about your grandmother, 
Victoria,” he said in softened tones. “ She al- 
ways appeared to be so strong.” 

“ Yes ; grandmother died three years ago. I 
was with her. It was all very peaceful. She was 
a noble woman.” He noticed the little break in 
her voice. 


VICTORIA 229 

“ Indeed, she was. You saw them frequently 
then? ” 

“ Nearly every summer. I went abroad twice, 
once with a party of college girls, once with Laura 
Forest, who has been my good angel, I think.” 

“ Laura has been a good angel to many people 
I believe. She has always been good enough to 
profess much interest in my plans. I have been 
very successful, Victoria. I do not know that I 
deserve much credit. It was all so easy after the 
first. Western real estate. But perhaps this 
does not interest you ? ” He was conscious of talk- 
ing in a rather lame manner as though to gain 
time. 

“ Indeed, I am very glad to hear of your suc- 
cess, Sefton,” she interrupted quickly. “ Why 
should I not be glad ? ” 

‘‘ I am a rich man, Victoria. Far richer than 
you dream. I do not mean that that would have 
any weight with you. But I need you, dear. The 
years have been to me years of terrible loneliness. 
There were times when I was on the brink of de- 
spair. But for you, I think, I know, I should have 
let myself drift. But I have had one hope to sus- 
tain me, darling. The hope of you. And for 
your sake, I have lived a life in which there is 
nothing hidden. I need you ! I need you ! ” 

He was standing before her now, his voice low- 
pitched, compelling. 

‘‘ You have been successful you say,” she re- 


230 VICTORIA 

turned very deliberately. “ Successful, and you 
have been alone.” 

“ It is true I have not had your bodily pres- 
ence,” he admitted after a moment’s silence. 
“ But none the less your influence has been always 
with me. I have waited a long time, Victoria. I 
have — ” 

“ You need not have waited for me, Sefton,” 
she said very gently. “ You could have your 
freedom long ago.” 

‘‘ Freedom! ” 

The word broke from him flercely, angrily. 
“ You talk of freedom. I never wanted to be 
free. It is you I have always wanted. You. I 
know that at the time I married you, I was a 
young fool. I did not understand you. But I 
have always loved you. You must believe that, 
Victoria. 

‘‘ Perhaps it is that we do not prize things that 
are ours. Why, dear, in those first days when I 
feared I had lost you forever, I came upon an old 
half-worn note of Laura Forest’s, one that she had 
written me, and with it were several sheets of paper 
covered with the letters you were trying to imitate. 
Dear girl, how it hurt me! I did not know you 
cared, you see. I did not know ! 

“ But you and I are both young. Let us begin 
life all over again. Trust the future to me. Let 
the past be as though it had not been. Let us try 
again, Victoria. You are my wife. Give me back 
the love you once had for me. Away out in a 


VICTORIA 


231 


city on the Western Coast, I have a beautiful home 
that waits for you. I am leading but a half life 
without you. You loved me once. That love will 
come back again.” 

Victoria listened with down-bent head, not once 
interrupting the man’s impassioned pleading. But 
when he stopped, she lifted her eyes to his and 
spoke very quietly. 

“ My love for you died out long ago, Sefton. 
In asking me to give it back, you are asking for 
that which is not mine to give. My life for years 
has been so filled with other things. There is 
much yet undone. And then my teaching will oc- 
cupy my life. It is not going to be an empty life, 
Sefton. Quite the contrary.” 

The words were spoken with indifference rather 
than coldness. 

“ And are love and home life to form no part.? ” 
he demanded a trifle indignantly. 

She lifted her eyebrows in visible surprise. 

“ For me.? No.” 

“ Victoria, you are now an educated, accom- 
plished woman fitted to adorn any sphere,” he said. 
“ But let me tell you. It is not on account of what 
you are now that I love you. If you were here 
before me now, the little wild, spoiled girl I fell in 
love with once, I would willingly, gladly, ask you 
to walk the world with me all my life. It is you I 
love. You. And you are mine. Surely you can- 
not doubt now, after all these years, that you are 
dearer to me than my life. How can I leave you 


VICTORIA 


again? Think, Victoria, to what you are con^ 
demning me. I will take you if, as you say, you 
have no love in your heart at all. Love will come. 
Trust me, darling. It will come.” 

Victoria had been seated all this time in the stiff- 
backed chair. She stood up now and faced him, 
her countenance very pale, and grave looking. It 
came to him then that she had not once smiled dur- 
ing the interview, and the recollection gave him a 
queer sensation. 

“ I am very sorry, Sefton,” she said with in- 
finite gentleness, if a little icily. “ This interview 
was not of my seeking. It is useless to' prolong it, 
painful as it is to us both. There are lives in 
which marriage and home duties have no place. 
Mine is one, and I must live my own life. That 
for a brief time we were husband and wife need 
not influence either of us now. 

“ The law gives you your freedom. For my- 
self, I care not. They tell us love is but an in- 
cident in our lives after all. And, Sefton, let us 
not see each other again. It will be far better. 
You must forget me. And now let us say good- 
bye. But first let me thank you for wanting me 
back again. It is far more than I have any right 
to expect from you.” 

“ But — but, Victoria, I — I cannot leave you 
in this way,” he stammered. 

The hazel-grey eyes grew wide with slow wonder. 

“ In what way, then ? ” she questioned earnestly. 

In what way indeed ! 


VICTORIA 


23 ^ 


Without a word, he turned and strode from the 
room. What further was there that he could have 
said? 

From the hall he threw one swift glance toward 
the little reception room and its one slim, black- 
gowned occupant. Three laughing young col- 
lege girls were just going in. Doubtless they had 
been waiting for him to take his departure. 
Trent saw Victoria’s face turned full toward them, 
her eyes alight with the smile which he, despite all 
his impassioned pleading, had not been able to 
win. 

From the green without, the senseless college 
yell, loud, insistent, broke upon the evening air. 
A gay group of young people passed him as he 
made his way swiftly down through the long halls 
and out upon the curving gravelled walks which 
led to the street. Their merry laughter mingled 
with the resonant notes of the great bell which 
tolled the hour from the lofty college tower. 


CHAPTER XIX 


The wonderful Day, the Day of the diplomas, 
was gone. Trains for the North, South and West 
had carried off scores of bright-faced young fresh- 
men, sophomores, juniors and seniors, and already 
something of the wonted summer quiet had settled 
upon the beautiful college campus. 

Victoria Trent, in her own small bedroom, was 
busily engaged in packing her possessions prepara- 
tory to moving into the larger room in the wing 
occupied by the teachers. During the summer 
there were some promised visits at the homes of 
favorite schoolmates ; but for the most part, she 
would be at the dear old college for advanced 
work in German literature and philosophy. 

“ Dear me I how funny.” 

Victoria said this aloud to the furniture of the 
pretty little room, then sat down on the floor be- 
side her trunk to read. It was an exercise in Eng- 
lish written during her first summer in the East, 
and the quaint sentences and original spelling 
amused her not a little. “ An eight-year-old girl 
could have written it,” she said and laughed again 
at the ridiculousness of doing such work when she 
was seventeen. 

“ And I have but just begun,” she sighed. 

234 


VICTORIA 


235 


“ Just begun, and there is so much to do. The 
field is so wide. There are so many things I want 
to do in addition to my teaching. Life ought to 
be a thousand years long for every one of us. 
Poor little short-lived atoms that we are ! ” 

But she jumped up briskly, putting the little 
exercise back into its box. “ I’ll put this away 
as a memento of my childhood,” she said a little 
sadly, “ as Ray puts away the little half-worn 
shoes of Ben junior and Victor. For I was a child 
then. A very wayward and altogether trouble- 
some one I fear.” 

Then she began folding away her ribbons and 
laces in the neat, precise way her good old grand- 
mother had taught her, and placed each separate 
pair of gloves in its case, for carelessness with her 
personal effects was a symptom of intellectuality 
that contact with her college mates had never 
taught her. 

Victoria’s face was serious and thoughtful as 
she worked. Occasionally a dreamy, far-away 
look crept into the large hazel-grey eyes. Once 
she paused in her occupation long enough to un- 
roll her brand-new diploma and read her own name 
inscribed thereon with emotions of pride and pleas- 
ure that were wholly pardonable in a brand-new 
Baccalaureate. 

Her college years had been so pleasant. They 
had been made up of dear old days. Life could 
never bring her any days that would be just the 
same. 


236 


VICTORIA 


Why it was sad even to think of leaving this 
little room. It had been hers so long. But her 
work would be right here at the college. It was 
not as though she were really going to leave. She 
called to mind the remark of poor old ignorant 
Maggie about her “ being so fierce arter learnin’.” 
Perhaps she was. Had not dear Laura Forest 
claimed that she was obsessed by education.? 

“ She should have said, ‘ obsessed by the idea of 
education,’ ” corrected the new Baccalaureate with 
a little smile at the thought of daring to correct 
Miss Forest, now quite an elderly Baccalaureate. 

Those last days at the college — how she had 
enjoyed them all! To be sure, there had been 
that “ disquieting ” visit from Sefton Trent. But 
that was over now. And they would not meet 
ever again. Doubtless he had taken her frankness 
for brutality, whereas she had meant it for truth 
only. And was not plain truth often brutal.? Of 
course, it was. 

A loud knock on the door opening into one of 
the long halls brought her to her feet with a quick 
spring. 

“ Come in,” she called, expecting a farewell 
visit from some friend ready to depart on the next 
outgoing train. But it was only a messenger boy 
with a telegram. Wonderingly, Victoria tore 
open the envelope and read the enclosure. 

There has been a wreck on Westbound train in 
Ohio. Sefton injured. See morning papers.” 


VICTORIA 237 

The telegram was sent from Cleveland and was 
signed, “ Laura Forest.’’ 

Cleveland. Yes ; Laura left Commencement 
Day to visit friends in that city. Again Victoria 
read the few typewritten words, her eyes dwelling 
on those two only: “ Sefton injured.” 

She looked up and stared rather helplessly at 
the boy. 

“ There is no answer,” she said quietly when she 
could find her voice, and with one bound, the mes- 
senger was off down the hall. 

Victoria walked swiftly to one of the rooms 
across the hall from which there issued the unmis- 
taken sounds that accompany a vigorous campaign 
against dust. 

“ Minna,” she said to one of the maids, grown 
gray in the interests of cleanliness, “ can you get 
me the morning papers ? ” 

“ Yes ; ma’am.” 

The servant admired Victoria. Besides there 
was in her face just now a world of anxious fears 
which she was vainly trying to conceal. 

The sharp-eyed Minna returned in a few min- 
utes with two of the leading dailies. 

Victoria returned to her own disordered room, 
with trembling hands unfolded one of the news- 
papers and glanced hurriedly at the glaring head- 
lines. As usual in such instances, some one had 
blundered. An Eastbound freight had left its 
switch too late and there had been a collision. 

Rapidly Victoria’s eye ran down the columns 


238 


VICTORIA 


to the list of dead and injured. Yes ; there among 
the score of persons dangerously if not fatally 
hurt, she read the name of “ Sefton Trent, 
Seattle.” 

Mr. Trent had received terrible injuries, and it 
was truly miraculous that he had not been in- 
stantly killed. In the act of rescuing a helpless 
child, he had been struck by a heavy piece of 
timber which came crashing through one of the 
car windows. He would live; but his injuries were 
such as to cause permanent blindness. He would 
never see again. 

Something like a shriek broke from Victoria, 
and the paper fell from her nerveless fingers. Sef- 
ton never to see again ! To be blind always I Oh, 
the horror of it all! One long, long night! And 
he was but thirty-four. And he might live to be — 

Victoria shivered, sitting there in the warm 
June sunlight. How far away Heaven must seem 
to the blind she thought. 

Laura had sent her this telegram. And Laura 
thought — Laura expected. — Of course, Laura 
did. And she — 

Sefton Trent was her husband. She saw him 
now, not the prosperous self-sufficient gentleman 
of two short days ago; but a helpless, suffering, 
stricken man from whom the light of sun and stars 
and pale wandering moon has been forever with- 
drawn. 

And now — Victoria tried hard to think how it 
would seem to leave this loved work of hers. Hard 


VICTORIA 


2a9 

indeed would it be to abandon hopes cherished 
fondly for years. But was not Miss Lockhart, 
her friend of the old days in Kansas, with many 
more years and much more experience eminently 
fitted to fill her place here.?^ And Miss Lockhart 
was most eager for the position, having an invalid 
sister and two small nieces to support. 

Her own proper place was clearly by her hus- 
band’s side. Her husband. Yes; he was that. 
But Victoria was honest with herself. She did not 
love her husband. But she was his wife. He 
needed her. Something that Laura Forest had 
once said came back to her then. Education en- 
abled one to see the whole of a thing somehow, not 
one’s own small viewpoint alone. Clearly, her 
duty lay in ministering to the husband now so 
sorely in need of her services. 

But to give up the cherished dream of years? 
Could she? Could she? 

As one walking in a dream, Victoria went slowly 
to the window and stood long looking out over the 
loved college green, yet not seeing it for the fast- 
falling tears. 

It was almost midnight, when Victoria, slim and 
girlish-looking in her small straw hat and dark 
travelling dress, entered a hospital in one of the 
smaller cities of central Ohio. The house surgeon, 
a scholarly-looking young man wearing powerful 
eyes glasses, came out of one of the rooms near the 
entrance just as the street door closed behind her. 


mo VICTORIA 

He bowed and stepped before her with a glance of 
inquiry. 

A strange feeling, part shyness altogether un- 
accountable to her, part nervousness which she 
attributed to weariness from her journey, over- 
powered her for a moment, held her speechless. 
After all, perhaps she was doing something dread- 
ful. 

The glance of kindly inquiry which the young 
physician bent upon her changed to one of surprise 
at her silence. 

“You are looking for some one possibly?” he 
said pleasantly. “ Let me assist you ? ” 

The kindness of his tone gave the girl courage. 
With an effort she controlled herself. “ Can you 
direct me to Mr. Trent’s room? ” she faltered at 
length, adding in a firmer tone, “ I am Mrs. 
Trent.” 

“ Certainly, madam. Mr. Trent is in one of the 
rooms on the second floor. I will take you to 
him.” 

The light in the great cold halls was very dim. 
The elevator had stopped running at eight o’clock, 
so together Victoria and the surgeon mounted the 
broad, uncarpeted stairway which led to the sec- 
ond floor. 

“ Mr. Trent’s injuries are very painful,” the 
physician volunteered when the first landing was 
reached. “ But he has not been given opiates 
since noon.” Then with a slight smile, he added: 


VICTORIA 


£4*1 


“ He is not very patient. We cannot look for pa- 
tience in men I suppose.” 

“ Will he? Is he going to — ? ” 

Victoria stopped suddenly. She could not bring 
her lips to utter the terrible word blind. 

But the physician understood. “ He is not so 
terribly injured as we at first thought,” he said 
hopefully. “ But he will have a long fight.” 

Sefton Trent was lying perfectly still, his in- 
jured arm bound to his side, the heavy bandage 
over his eyes concealing nearly all the upper part 
of his head. 

A pale-faced young woman in the white garb of 
the hospital nurse sat in a low chair beside the 
bed. A Sister of Charity, beautiful, tranquil- 
eyed and calm, paused for a moment in the door- 
way. Seeing Victoria, she came slowly into the 
room. 

“ You are his wife? ” she said in a sweet, sympa- 
thetic voice, taking one of the little cold hands 
which the girl held out. “ I am so glad you have 
come ! ” 

The nun was very tall. Victoria lifted her big, 
questioning eyes to the calm ones beneath the 
snow-white bonnet. 

“ Oh, sister, tell me, tell me,” she faltered in a 
whisper, ‘‘ just how bad it is. Will he — will my 
husband be blind ? Tell me the truth.” 

The Sister smiled. “ You poor child,” she said. 
“You poor child! At first they feared so. In- 


VICTORIA 


deed, it is a miracle that he was not killed. You 
are so young. I think God spared him for you. 
A specialist from Cincinnati sent out by the rail- 
road company has just left. And your husband 
will see. But he will have to remain for weeks 
with his eyes bandaged. Then there will be many 
weeks when he must stay in a darkened room. But 
his sight will be perfect again. You will have to 
teach him patience.” 

“ Thank God!” 

Victoria’s words were breathed rather than 
spoken. 

The Sister left in obedience to a call from with- 
out, and Victoria approached the bed. Sefton 
Trent moved slightly and called for a drink of 
water. 

The white-garbed young nurse went in quest of 
fresh water, and Victoria knelt beside the bed. As 
she did so, there came to her a memory of the old 
garden in Kansas and the night so many years ago 
when she felt her husband’s first kisses upon her 
burning face. 

“ Sefton,” she said very softly, “ Sefton. It is 
Victoria. I have come back. I am going to be 
your wife again, Sefton, dear. Your wife.” 

“ My wife. You have come back to me, now, 
now'* 

There was joy, hope and infinite tenderness in 
the injured man’s voice. He tried to draw her to 
him with his one arm, but could not do so, owing to 
his position. His arm fell powerless. 


VICTORIA 


U3 


Victoria’s heart gave a great leap. It was as 
though a sudden warmth thrilled her through and 
through. And she had told herself that love was 
dead. As though the one immortal thing in life 
could die. 

'With a little cry she flung two strong young 
arms around his neck and pressed her lips against 
that portion of his cheek not covered by the band- 
age. 

“ I am going to stay always, Sefton.” Then 
very humbly : “ If you will let me.” 

“ Let you ? Oh ! Victoria, yesterday death 
would have been so very welcome. Now, I am glad 
I am going to live. Live for you, darling.” His 
voice sank to a whisper. 

But Victoria’s words came low and clear now, 
and wondrously sweet to the suffering man. 

“ I was wrong, Sefton. Forgive me. I told 
you my love for you was dead. But I love you, 
Sefton. I think I have always loved you. But I 
did not know. Now, I feel, I know that love never 
dies at all. Sefton, love cannot die.” 

His hand closed on hers with a clasp so strong 
it seemed he would hold her thus always. 

“ For one reason above all others I will welcome 
my sight,” he said very softly. “ I shall see you. 
Victoria ! Victoria ! ” 



rf.'.V, . Il 


mp^ f,i I •* * 


.V. . . ^ 






.1^ 




n 




Ik^r 




•' ; 


Tis 



/)>v , 


•’A 


' ■ :*^''' ijPSiST^ V .- rvf'ii. 

/W- \'^.T i::i' . , • , 


W fv >* r .. 



JK 

r ■■ 


ay •' 








iS**- 


4 \* 




,-5f 


Ml 












iV., 




ii * 




r^:^uSi 


.1' -. »■ 


4^1 


i' 




' 5 fV 


.1 j 


V -A 


i^r 


“ ♦ v « 


•1 ■• , 






■i;( 


S' 




.V 


l-tl 


,V 


kh 




;i? 




®i -I 


‘sy.? 


i- 




< 




m 




■J.: 


V 








fLi 


'• 1 


-Vi 


h iV 


w? 


M4> 


:M, 


Kf 


:<.f 




WJd 


li 


7 . 


n 


i V 






•n 




r ; 


4 . * 

I '. ' . -f ■ 
S.i 




•L.&« ^ 








Vm, f, 


L^v 


V.*)! 


f ~ 




I 


'* I ' I M 

rV* 'i * 


*(ii 


f 


V‘ 






’) ' • 


Wi 


* * . . I 


XS'i-. , , - 

?..«!V‘; 


* V 


»Vi. 


U' 


>/ 


, ♦ ' t 


Si." 


;-<X‘ '.'iVi ■' }'•' 

mV ^ • •, ':a-v mi' 


[**. • 


■ '■, X V'jSjC 




4. 


:vv 


^r- 


r'®'! 




y'-, 


*: 




l^. 


h. 


S 


# <>.-••. w i 


.S 




» ' ^ 

»v ■ ,,,, 

lA ;-vTV.'nj 'I 




h 






I i*f 




i 


.'' ;.‘ ‘Ji-. t 




r 




ii».i 


ij, 


'ii\' 


77. , ..„ r- 

ivM .. < - ' ' 




AM 




^ 1 


sr 


I 


'i'^ 


w 


i 


» I 


j • I 


I' >’ i 


iiK. «: 


Ah' V i 




‘ \[‘ 




* 


« I 




•A 




k'')^ 


*i • tit s 


r Tjl 


s V* 




'*. . f 


»v 


^ 


« fj » . I 


1%; i 


% 








1 ^ 


:>( 


t y 




'. ‘ 1 








II## 


t 


Wfh 


In. ■ . Vt; t 


I ■.'• 


•H. 






1 •!. 




.1 ^ 






B 


is 


7. .« 


” . XV 


f « 




I # 


ly 


<l 




m: 


I i j 










1*1 


11 




'f ■« 




t 


'fC 


! . I' 


<'d 




.* / 


/. ' . f 






<'.i i'Mi' 






ri 




i>l 


.A.»j 


J. . 


S'M« 


.V') 


(7. 


:i\;f jrV' 


f i 




'V’ ’ */: 4 ‘. 


4 




:i' 


f « 


yiW'Vn: 






y. / 


■». 


» ‘‘I 




y/ 




,(! 


(I 


Mi 




ii^VF/. 


tU . , I 


1,’^. ■’■' 


.♦.KJW 


■> UJ t 










f 


‘< ;', 


«i 


mm^: 


»ia’ 


M' 




m 




s 


*» 


t I- »i » 


I . V 


i/ .S 




iiir i; 




I k- 


> 


10^ 






'u i 


» 4 


1 ‘nM 






M 




I 




r*'.r 


?i? 




t a' 


I'Cr 


t .7 


fW* :n^.7 




vt 


c 


■I 




'fi 




nil 




i(L‘ 


i: 


M 


‘t . * 






).i5 


V 


m 


h 


•Sit 1 




<_4! 




'’ll 




V .! 


Ill 4 






iiv 


IS 


i? 


X ■«* j fi 




S 


i>y 


A7. 




lif^ 


f 

















r 





k 

t 

ft 









Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, INC. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp.. PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 








■a 


# 



>"v ^-'.f 


• 1 , 


I ■ 


' i •• • 




fl’ ' '■'v^’^i'' ' . ' ‘, 

m^ m ' 


tl 





• ' r 


wCD- 


’'■r 




rV' ■.. 


•\- 


V 

i’ 


V * y • • . 

p'-. ■■. ■ 




) I 



•1' ■' ;y'-', '^’M'.t • .i}'^ 

■ *.&’ 
r|it' ■ 


' I V 


k V ‘1 

'i ‘ ►'i 



..;:^iifv'i,^' 


lt*J^ i « ••! f^' 











UBRARY OF CONGRESS 

I ® 

□□oEEasb^aH 



t 


